"THIRTEEN" 


BARTON  Ot  AYLESWOHTH 


"THIRTEEN" 


AND   TWELVE    OTHERS 


FROM  THE  ADIRONDACKS  AND  ELSEWHERE. 


BARTON  O.  AYLESWORTH. 


ST.  Louis : 
CHRISTIAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 

1892. 


COPYRIGHT,  1893,  BY 

CHRISTIAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


THIS  little  volume  is  faithfully  inscribed  to 
the  Students  and  Faculty  of  Drake  University, 
whose  loyalty  and  efficiency  have  made  my  duties 
the  most  pleasant  of  my  life. 

THE  AUTHOR. 
DRAKE  UNIVERSITY, 
Dts  Moines,  Jov;a. 


2061806 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

I.  "THIRTEEN."              .            .            .            .            .9 

II.  THE  FAIRIES  AT  Au  SABLE  CHASM.               .            .      38 

III.  MAIDEN  ROCK.  .....  50 

IV.  A  WOMAN? 83 

V.  A  DREAM.        .          .            .        '     .            .            .110 

VI.     JIM'S  VICT'RY 120 

VII.  "AUNT  MODGIE."         .                      .            .            .134 

VIII.  JOHN  BROWN.    (A  Poem.)        .            .            .            .147 

IX.  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.        ....          148 

X.  A  CHRISTMAS  STORY.        .....    196 

XI.     ODUNA. 207 

XII.  "WHERE  THERE  is  LIFE  THERE  is  HOPE."(?)        .    218 

XIII.  A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION.                                                235 


Braving  the  Pagan  superstition  that  Thirteen  is  an  unlucky 
number,  I  send  this  hopeful  little  fraternity  out  upon  its  mis- 
sion. If  it  shall  succeed  in  annoying  some  and  cheering  others, 
— many  more  of  the  latter  than  of  the  former,  I  trust — it  will 
have  done  its  duty  and  served  its  whole  purpose. 

While  the  bee  is  capable  of  stinging,  it  also  has  the  instinct 
of  honey-making.  Its  saccharine  processes  have  much  to  do 
with  flowers. 


"  THIRTEEN "  AND  TWELVE  OTHERS. 


"  THIRTEEN." 

"  THIS  will  never  do,"  cried  Mrs.  Mannell. 

"  What  is  wrong  ?  "  exclaimed  Judge  Bryan. 

"  There  are  only  thirteen  at  the  table,  and  I  am 
sure  I  am  not  ready  to  be  called  home,  either  on 
earth  or  to  glory." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Mannell,  "there  is  no  Judas 
to  put  out,  shall  we  call  in  the  maid  ? " 

"  That  would  at  least  be  fulfilling  the  scriptural 
injunction,"  urged  the  Rev.  Barton,  "  to  go  into 
the  by-ways  and  hedges  and  compel  them  to 
come  in." 

"If  only  Mr.  Andrews  had  come  back;  the 
'  meountins '  must  have  an  uncommon  fascination 
for  him.  But,  then,  we  ought  to  have  known 
better  than  to  have  fourteen  in  camp ;  somebody 
is  sure  to  be  absent  from  every  meal." 

"I  move  you  that  all  the  ill-luck  of  each  day  be 
ordered  upon  the  absent  member,"  said  Mr.  Street, 
who,  being  a  retired  railroad  official,  knew  how  to 
punish  the  careless. 

(9) 


10  "THIRTEEN." 

"No,  no;  he  will  have  enough  bad  luck  in  miss- 
ing his  rations  of  pork  and  beans,"  exclaimed  one 
of  the  ladies. 

"  And  you  forget,"  said  Mrs.  Andrews,  "  that  in 
this  case  I,  as  one  of  the  thirteen,  should  be  afflicted 
if  anything  befall  my  absent  husband ;  so  we 
should  not  escape  after  all." 

"As  this  is  to  be  an  occasion  of  radical  mo- 
tions," said  the  Judge,  taking  a  radish  delicately 
between  his  thumb  and  finger,  "I  move  that  we 
conduct  ourselves  as  belonging  to  an  enlightened 
age,  eschew  old  women's  fables,  and  possess  our 
souls  in  peace.  Of  course  none  of  us  thinks  that 
if  we  thirteen  sit  at  meat  to-night,  any  law  of 
nature  or  grace  will  be  broken  on  account  of  the 
number  of  the  company.  Hence  no  ill  can  befall 
us  from  that  source." 

"The  Judge  has  spoken  wisely,  as  usual,"  re- 
marked the  Minister.  "  Nature  is  too  large,  and 
God  too  unchanging  to  permit  any  whim  or  acci- 
dent of  our  little  lives  to  alter  the  procession  of 
His  plans." 

"  Well,  it  looks  to  me  just  like  flying  into  the 
face  of  Providence,"  whispered  a  pious  little  soul 
to  her  neighbor. 

"  Why  not  into  His  arms  just  as  well  ? "  was  the 
reply. 

"  It  may  be  true,"  said  Mr.  Merritt,  "  that  thir- 
teen per  cent,  of  the  race  are  traitors,  but  it  does 


"  THIRTEEN."  11 

not  follow  that  there  must  be  a  Judas  in  every 
group  of  thirteen." 

"That's  a  business  man's  view  of  the  matter, 
and  quite  sensible ; "  said  Mrs.  Truner,  whose 
knowledge  of  affairs  as  well  as  books  was  rare. 

"All  this  assumed  or  real  fear  of  warnings, 
signs,  and  dreams  arises  from  a  false  notion  of 
the  Deity  and  His  government,"  broke  in  Rev. 
Barton.  "From  some  source  our  slavish  minds 
got  the  idea  that  God  was  doing  a  small  barter 
business  with  us,  taking  our  prayers  and  giving 
us  rods  in  return ;  but,  that  he  was  kind  enough 
to  make  a  dead  clock  strike,  or  an  owl  hoot,  a  few 
hours  before  the  calamity  came,  that  we  might 
have  a  slight  forewarning  for  penitence.  A  narrow 
notion  of  God,  and  it  has  kept  the  concepts  of  men 
small  and  contracted,  and  will,  until  there  is  a 
strike  for  truth." 

"I  don't  see  but  that  these  delicacies  taste  just 
as  well  as  if  there  were  a  score  here,"  said  the 
Judge.  "  It  is  a  matter  of  conscience  as  to  our 
inner  happiness,  and  a  matter  of  physical  law  as 
to  our  outer  comfort.  I  do  not  mean  to  say,  '  Let 
us  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  we  die ; ' 
that  is  still  worse  than  Paganism.  Rather,  that 
we  should  obey  the  '  Thou  oughtest '  of  the  Soul, 
and  nature's  laws  as  far  as  we  are  able.  Then 
thirteen  or  thirty,  the  results  will  be  the  same." 

"  Thirteen  men  on  a  jury  are  sometimes  vexing, 
are  they  not,  Judge?" 


12  "  THIRTEEN." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Street? " 

"I  mean  the  twelve  jurymen  and  the  winning 
attorney." 

"Not  so  vexing  as  when  there  are  fourteen  of  us." 

"  Good !  the  Judge  has  dealt  with  wits  so  long 
he  knows  how  to  keep  his  own." 

"  Thanks,  Sir  Preacher ;  allow  me  to  return  by 
saying  that  you  often  give  yours  away." 

"  You  are  mistaken ;  I  draw  my  salary  regularly, 
even  through  a  summer  vacation." 

"Ah!  then  that  accounts  for  your  not  being 
orthodox.  It  is  rank  heresv  for  a  preacher  to 
receive  his  salary." 

"A  heresy  for  which  he  is  not  likely  to  be 
burned — unless  he  shouldn't  spend  it  well." 

"Keep  those  two  gentlemen  out  of  Hell,  Mrs. 
Mannell." 

"  I  will ;  "  refilling  their  glasses  with  ice  water. 

"  The  part  of  Lazarus  ? " 

"  Come,  come ;  the  conversation  is  entirely  too 
religious  for  me,"  protested  Mr.  Mannell,  whose 
chief  occupation  was  to  convince  country  mer- 
chants that  the  universe  swings  around  the  jobbing 
house  of  Jewell  &  Company. 

"  I  have  a  suggestion,"  quietly  interrupted  Mrs. 
McLaylin,  who  thought  a  vast  deal  more  than  she 
said.  "  Let  us  keep  strict  account,  each  one  for 
himself,  during  our  first  week  in  the  Adirondacks, 
and  note  whatever  of  evil  or  good  befalls ;  then 
call  an  Anti-superstition  convention  here  in  Camp 


"  THIRTEEN."  13 

Flume,  one  week  from  last  night.  Let  that  for- 
ever decide  it." 

"Agreed,"  assented  all  except  the  pious  little 
woman,  who  protested :  "  Let  the  week  begin  with 
to-day  ;  you  forget  yesterday  was  Friday." 

"  Good  !  "  roared  the  gentlemen. 

"  I  never  could  understand,"  mused  the  Minister, 
"why  any  Christian  should  be  afraid  of  Friday, 
since  it  is  such  a  significant  day  in  his  faith.  It 
seems  to  me  that  everything  great,  everything 
involving  human  life  and  human  love,  should 
begin  on  this  crucifixion  day,  if  days  are  to  be 
marked  at  all.  Friday  should  be  my  wedding- 
day  if  it  were  to  do  over  again.  I  wish  I  had  been 
born  on  Friday." 

"  Oh,  dear,  if  I  can  only  keep  those  home-sick 
whip-poor-wills  quiet  to-night !  If  I  don't  you 
must  please  count  me  out,  for  I  just  can't  stand  it; 
something  will  happen." 

"  How  would  it  do,  Mrs.  Fearling,  to  put  cotton 
in  your  ears  ?  I  suppose  if  you  didn't  hear  them, 
nothing  could  happen.'7 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure." 

"I  want  to  add  a  suggestion  to  yours,  Mrs. 
McLaylin." 

"  Do  so,  Judge." 

"It  is  this:  that  none  of  us  permits  a  single 
action  to  be  governed  by  superstition,  old  or  new, 
during  this  week." 

"  With  a  forfeit  if  one  forget  ?  " 


14  "  THIRTEEN." 

"  Yes ;  everyone  who  is  caught,  or  catches  him- 
self, so  governed,  or  about  to  be  so  governed,  shall 
pay  one  dollar  into  the  summer's  reading  fund." 

"Please  leave  me  out,"  sighed  Mrs.  Fearling 
again.  "It  would  break  me  up  ;  I  haven't  money 
enough  now  to  last  until  Mr.  Fearling  comes — if 
he  comes  at  all,  and  I  just  know  he  won't;  some- 
thing will  be  sure  to  happen.  He  had  to  go  back 
twice  the  day  we  started  to  the  train ;  I  wanted 
him  to  walk  backwards  to  the  house,  but — " 

"  There's  the  first  dollar,  Mrs.  Fearling." 

"First  dollar?  From  me?  How  do  you  make 
that  out  ?  I'm  sure  — " 

"  How  could  Mr.  Fearling's  going  back  affect  his 
future  conduct  ? " 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,  Judge,"  said  Mr.  Street, 
"a  man  so  forgetful  as  that  could  easily  forget 
he  had  a  wife  at  all.  And  more  than  likely  when 
Mrs.  Fearling  gets  home,  she  will  find  her  place 
taken  by  a  younger  and  handsomer  woman — if 
that  be  possible." 

"  You  brute." 

"Et  tu  brute?" 

"  Slang  is  worse  than  superstition." 

"  Slang?  That  is  Latin,  the  best  of  old  Roman 
pronunciation." 

"Well,  how  shall  we  put  in  the  day?  The 
Judge  and  the  Preacher  will  follow  the  shades  of 
Walton.  The  ladies  are  going  to  the  Flume  for  a 


"THIRTEEN."  15 

little  sketching  and  climbing,  with  the  children." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  to  try  the  rod  to-day  or 
not,"  replied  the  Judge.  "  I  heard  the  cry  of  a  loon 
last  night,  and  they  say  trout  won't  bite  — »" 

"  Hold !  there,  my  Arbiter  of  Justice,"  shouted 
Mr.  Merritt.  "  A  dollar,  please.  What  a  weak 
race  we  are  to  let  these  Pagan  notions  control  us, 
or  to  listen  to  old  women's  fables  !  What  has  the 
cry  of  a  loon  to  do  with  trout  biting?  The  dollar 
biter  is  bit." 

"  Gentlemen,  if  you  will  be  quiet  a  minute,  I 
shall  convince  you  of  your  error.  It  is  not  super- 
stition. It  is  a  scientific  fact  that  the  two 
phenomena  are  always  found  together." 

"  So,  too,  with  the  ground-hog's  shadow  and  the 
late  spring,"  said  one. 

"The  four-leaf  clover  and  fortune,"  said  an- 
other. 

"  Horseshoes  and  witches,"  cried  a  third. 

"And  rain  on  Easter." 

"  Well,  I  have  noticed  time  and  again," 
eagerly  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fearling,  "  that  if  it  rains 
on  Easter  — " 

"  Ha  !  ha !  The  Judge  and  Mrs.  Fearling  are 
two  of  a  kind." 

"  Come,  Judge,  fork  over  the  fine,  you  are  in  the 
habit  of  imposing  them,  try  paying  one." 

"I  still  insist  that  I  am  right,  scientific — " 

"So  does  Mrs.  Fearling.  You  drink  from  the 
same  fountain." 


16  "  THIRTEEN." 

"  Say  no  more,  gentlemen ;  here  is  the  dollar." 

"Who  shall  be  our  treasurer?  The  prospects 
are  that  it  will  be  a  very  responsible  office." 

"  I  move  the  Judge  be  given  the  office ;  it  will  be 
convenient  for  him,  especially  if  he  wishes  to  make 
himself  a  loan  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  old 
women's  fables." 

"  How  far  are  we  from  the  Canada  line  ? " 

"  If  you  gentlemen  would  read,  you  would  know 
that  that  joke  is  antique  since  the  new  extradition 
laws.  Now  let  us  be  honest  in  the  day's  record." 

"  Certainly,  Judge,  unless  we  should  run  across 
some  scientific  correlation." 

"That  must  do,  or  I  will  pole  the  jury,"  swing- 
ing his  fishing  rod  high  above  their  heads. 

There  was  little  in  the  vicinity  of  Camp  Flume 
to  encourage  superstition ;  but  very  much  to  lift 
the  mind  into  a  broader  view  of  nature,  and  of  the 
Absolute.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  the  beautiful 
Keene  Valley,  said  to  be  the  rarest  mountain- 
guarded  rest-spot  in  America.  Near  by  are 
double-helrneted  Giant,  nearly  four  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea ;  Noon-Mark ;  Dix, 
rising  in  its  splendor  of  five  thousand  feet ;  while 
to  the  right  and  far  away,  old  Marcy,  vast  and 
consummate  in  its  strength,  toys  with  the  incon- 
stant clouds  in  stately  indifference. 

The  Au  Sable  river  from  the  south  runs  its 
pilgrimage  the  winding  length  of  the  maple  and 
elm  shaded  valley,  hurrying  on  to  meet  its  bride 


"  THIRTEEN."  17 

from  the  Indian  Pass,  journeying  soon  together 
through  Au  Sable  Chasm  to  the  lake. 

Flume  Camp  gets  its  name  from  an  audacious 
little  sprite  of  a  brook,  scampering  down  its  narrow 
way  to  the  river.  Sometimes  a  hanging  thread, 
again  a  little  sun-shot  pool,  and  then  a  loiterer, 
climbing  by  easy  stages  carefully  down  its  rock- 
ladder,  between  straight  stone  walls  a  hundred 
feet  high,  covered  an  inch  or  more  with  moss. 

A  little,  tiny,  daring  thing,  braving  giant  rocks 
and  forbidding  caverns;  singing,  careless,  free, 
wayward  but  winning,  it  never  fails  in  obedience 
to  its  Master. 

A  child  in  Nature.  A  wee  part  of  the  great, 
stupendous  whole, — the  Universe, — which  clashes, 
and  dashes,  and  rushes,  or,  is  dead  calm  to  our 
senses ;  but  forever  and  forever  yielding  to  One, 
absolutely  yielding,  every  instant. 

Whether  the  mocking  brook,  or  the  reason  which 
measures,  admires  or  reproduces  it  in  art,  all  is  in 
the  Process,  all  in  the  deeper  Plan,  of  the  Universal 
Reason. 

To  thoughtful  minds,  mountain  ranges  are  not 
productive  of  little  gods.  All  nature  becomes 
only  one  vast  kissed  face  under  the  fall  lips  and 
inspiring  breath  of  the  Infinite. 

No  fretful  cringing  of  nerves,  no  disordered 
functions  of  the  body,  not  even  deranged  functions 
of  the  brain,  can  long  take  the  place  of  reverent 
faith  there. 


18  "  THIRTEEN." 

Nature  may  be  crystallized  Evolution.  Humanity 
has  a  better  fate. 

All  is  well. 

The  God  of  nature  and  of  grace  is  One — the  gods 
of  clod-fashioned  fancy  are  not  at  all. 

What  does  one  care,  for  the  attic  of  religious 
rubbish,  the  debris  of  the  effete  ages,  when  he 
stands  on  Mount  Marcy's  Summit,  in  the  revealing 
sunlight  against  the  cobalt  blue  of  the  hill-banded 
horizon? 

Little  fears  and  puny  dogmas  snap  under  his 
feet  like  the  century-dead  pine  twigs,  as  he  climbs. 
Little  forms  of  worship  slip  from  off  his  soul 
like  the  moss  on  the  damp  logs,  as  he  marches 
over  their  prostrate  lengths. 

Nature  is  great.  Man,  the  fulfillment  and  fur- 
ther prophecy  of  nature  is  still  greater.  But  He, 
the  Absolute,  the  Source  and  End  of  both,  is 
Greatest ! 

"Here  comes  Mr.  Andrews  now;  we  must  in- 
itiate him  into  the  new  society.  " 

"  Keep  quiet, "  said  the  Judge,  "  and  let  him  fall 
into  the  pit. " 

"  Oh,  he  is  too  sensible  to  weave  any  dead 
paganism  into  his  thoughts. " 

"Thank  you,"  rather  sharply  responded  the 
Judge. 

"But  I  wonder  what's  the  matter.  See  how  fast 
he  walks.  Hello,  Jonathan !" 


"  THIRTEEN."  19 

"  Where's  Martha  ? " — his  wife. 

"  She  is  in  the  tent." 

"And  all  right?" 

"  Certainly,  what's  wrong  ?  You  act  as  though 
you  had  seen  a  ghost." 

"  I  came  frightfully  near  it.  I  went  to  sleep  up 
by  the  Flume  while  I  was  writing,  and — talk  about 
dreams,  gentlemen !  I  can't  say  I  believe  in  them." 

"  Belshazzar  did, "  said  the  Judge  gravely,  nudg- 
ing Street. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  my  name  called  three  times 
distinctly." 

"That  was  just  as  we  began  to  eat,  thirteen  of 
us.  I  told  you  something  terrible  would  happen," 
soberly  interrupted  Mrs.  Fearling. 

"  Hush !"  whispered  the  Judge  close  at  her  ear. 

"  And  then  I  saw  Martha  fall  from  the  high  cliffs 
just  above  me.  I  jumped  to  catch  her,  and  blame 
me  if  I  didn't  come  confounded  near  falling  into 
the  gorge  before  I  could  get  awake.  It  may  be 
superstition,  friends,  but  I  ran  nearly  all  the  way 
down  here ;  I  never  had  such  a  shock  in  my  life.  If 
there  had  been  anything  wrong  with  Martha,  I 
never  should  have  scoffed  at  dreamers  again.  " 

"But  since  there  isn't  anything  wrong,"  said  the 
Judge,  eager  to  avenge  himself,  "it  will  cost  you 
just  one  dollar.  I  am  the  treasurer,  and  I  demand 
payment." 

"  A  dollar  for  what  ? " 

"  For  admission  into  the  Anti-superstition  Amal- 


20-  "THIRTEEN." 

gamated  Association,  assembled  for  the  summer  at 
Camp  Flume,  Essex  county,  New  York,  " 

Then  the  whole  affair  was  gone  over  in  minutia. 
In  his  glee  over  the  hallucination  of  his  dream, 
Mr.  Andrews  handed  the  treasurer  a  two-dollar 
note.  "  Keep  the  change.  One  payment  in  ad- 
vance. " 

The  camp  broke  up  for  the  day  in  high  spirits. 
Soon  Judge  Bryan  and  Mr.  Barton  were  wending 
their  way  to  the  nearest  rapids  to  throw  for  trout. 

"Isn't  there  danger,  Barton,  of  carrying  this 
business  too  far?  See  little  Mrs.  Fearling;  al- 
ready she  thinks  we  are  worse  than  Infidels.  And 
are  we  not  on  the  road  to  undermine  all  faith, 
amusing  as  our  little  contract  seems  ? " 

"  Some  kinds  of  faith  need  undermining,  or, 
rather,  need  showing  up,  that  men  may  see  that 
there  is  nothing  beneath  them  to  be  mined  away. 
One  of  them  is  this  man-idea  of  God.  An  angry 
God,  a  fancy  tickled  God,  an  impatient,  quick- 
tempered, son-murdering,  and  race-damning  God ! 
I  tell  you,  Judge,  my  soul  revolts  at  the  shameful 
turning  of  Hebrew  poetry,  child-symbols,  into  the 
religious  realism  of  the  nineteenth  century.  We 
have  gone  mad  dogmatizing,  we  Protestants.  It  is 
time  for  a  new  Protestantism.  It  is  coming.  Not 
led  by  the  priests  this  time,  but  by  the  people. 
We  have  attempted  to  put  into  human  concept 
and  speech  the  expressionless  idea  of  God — His 
Attributes  and  Activities.  We  have  dogmatized 


"  THIRTEEN."  21 

the  Son,  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  Incarnation,  and  the 
Atonement,  until  it  is  a  wonder  there  is  a  worship- 
er in  all  the  world.  The  makers  of  dogmas  may 
have  had  some  larger  and  unexpressed  concepts 
back  of  their  creeds,  but  the  masses  of  the  people 
possess  only  the  form.  The  Roman  Catholic  idea, 
originally,  was  to  have  the  people  see  God  through 
images,  but  the  untaught  masses  persist  in  seeing 
God  in  the  image.  Protestantism  has  not  done 
much  better  ^until  recently.  Just  now  the  cries  of 
the  people  for  bread  instead  of  stones,  and  above 
all,  the  creedless  Christian  Endeavor  movement, 
are  hopeful  signs.  It  may  all  have  been  a  part  of 
the  mind's  Evolution  towards  the  true  God  idea." 
"I  think  so,  and  we  ought  to  be  charitable." 
"  True,  if  being  charitable  does  not  also  mean 
being  blindly  contented.  Did  it  ever  strike  you 
as  peculiar  that  Jesus  always  spoke  of  His  Father 
as  Love — an  emotion  ?  Indeed  his  oneness  with  the 
Father  lay  chiefly  in  that  he  was  the  manifesta- 
tion of  that  Love;  its  image,  as  it  were.  Necessarily 
God  is  more  than  that.  For  above  all  real  emotion 
must  be  thought.  As  absolute  as  is  God's  Love 
must  be  also  his  Intelligence.  And  when  one  has 
thought  and  emotion  he  will  unqualifiedly  have 
Will,  action. 

"  The  stir  of  the  nations  just  now  is  proof,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  activity  of  Nature  for  so  many  seons, 
that  God  is  the  Absolute  Personality,  combining 
these  three  elements  in  Infinity.  There  is  no  per- 


22  "THIRTEEN." 

sonality  without  them.  What  deeper  personality 
can  be  conceived  ?  Why  insist,  then,  that  God's 
personality  goes  beyond  these,  when  it  cannot  ?  If 
their  compound  in  Man  is  beyond  comprehension, 
surely  much  more  so  in  the  Eternal.  With  me, 
these  elements  of  myself  are  a  matter  of  self- 
consciousness.  And  also,  chief  of  all,  their  exist- 
ence in  the  selfhood  of  God  is  a  matter  of  con- 
sciousness in  me,  His  offspring.  Revelation,  and 
design  in  Nature  may  confirm  it  and  give  it  di- 
rection, they  cannot  prove  it.  Kant  said  truly: 
'It  is  not  certain,  (or  demonstrable)  that  there  is  a 


"That  gives  me  a  new  idea.  I  have  long  seen 
that  the  law  of  our  land  is  meant  to  be  the  mani- 
festation of  the  three-fold  personality  of  the  peo- 
ple, but  I  never  applied  it  to  theology.  The  law 
of  God's  processes  in  the  physical  realm  and  in 
mind,  is  the  manifestation  of  his  Personality." 

"The  Greeks  were  right.  God  is  Immanent. 
Not  as  a  blind  force,  but  as  Intellectual,  Emotion- 
al and  Actual  Force.  What  a  beautiful  picture 
Jesus  drew  for  his  disciples  of  this  great  fact! 
*  Not  a  sparrow  falleth  ;  '  '  Every  hair  of  your  head 
is  numbered.  '  And  again,  when  he  soothed  an- 
gry Galilee,  loosened  nature's  grip  from  off 
the  very  body  of  Lazarus,  and  blighted  with  the 
lightning  of  his  eye  the  barren  fig  tree.  " 

"  What,  then,  is  the  true  relation  of  the  indi- 
vidual to  God?" 


"  THIBTEEN."  23 

"  To  get  his  thought,  emotion,  and  willed  ac- 
tivity as  nearly  as  possible  into  line  with  God's, 
so  far  as  God  has  revealed  them  relative  to  hu- 
man life." 

"  The  incidents  of  nature,  pain  and  death,  are 
not  evils  to  him,  then,  you  mean  ?  " 

"That  is  just  it.  We  count  them  evil  because 
their  issue  lies  out  of  the  realm  of  the  senses  to 
which  we  are  such  willing  slaves.  They  are  parts  of 
the  whole  plan.  They  come  to  all,  and  not  to 
each  one  a's  an  Independent  Will  may  decree, 
but  to  each  as  his  contact  with  his  environment 
brings  the  condition  of  their  coming.  But  if  by 
prayer  and  worship  he  shall  have  come  up  to 
God  in  will,  even  these  present  ills  may  be 
averted  or  turned  into  blessings." 

"What  a  comforting  faith  !" 

"  What  a  true  faith.  All  truth  is  comforting. 
The  promise  of  the  Holy  Spirit  was  comforting  to 
the  disciples  because  it  should  '  guide  them  into 
all  truth.'  What  cared  they  for  prisons  or  martyr- 
dom ?  God  was  at  hand." 

"  You  believe  in  the  miracles  of  Christ,  then  ? " 

"Surely.  Why  deny  them  ?  What  is  a  miracle  ? " 

"  We  ordinarily  define  it  as  a  violation  of  natur- 
al law  by  some  higher  power.  " 

"  And  ordinarily  give  both  God  and  reason  the 
lie.  The  resurrection  of  Christ  from  the  dead  is 
no  more  a  miracle  than  a  flash  of  electricity. 
One  we  see  every  day,  it  has  become  ordinary; 


24  "  THIS  TEEN." 

the  other  is  not  usual,  but  is  extraordinary.  We 
can't  comprehend,  much  less  explain  either.  To 
my  mind  they  are  both  of  one  realm,  and  of  one 
spirit,  and  of  one  movement — the  one  lower,  the 
other  higher — towards  a  common  end.  There  can 
be  no  greater  miracle  than  life,  whether  in  a 
moss-leaf  or  in  a  risen  Christ. 

"  We  all  believe  in  Evolution.  It  means  passing 
from  lower  to  higher  forms  by  resident  forces — the 
resident  Infinite  force,  I  would  add.  If  the  human 
condition  has  already  attained  the  height  of 
Reason,  Love  and  Worship  (since  nothing  is  ever 
lost)  what  must  be  Lits  next  condition  ?  But  we 
also  believe  that  phenomena  are  not  life,  that  the 
essence  of  life  is  hidden.  Even  Spencer  admits 
that  the  atom  is  a  mode  of  the  Infinite.  It  it  were 
not  for  our  physical  senses  there  would  be  no  uni- 
verse as  we  now  see  it.  If,  then,  true  life  is  un- 
derneath phenomena,  and  is  not  material  at  all 
— and  every  great  science  admits  it — why  may 
not  the  next  condition  of  the  soul,  in  its  evolu- 
tion, be  super-sensible,  wholly  spiritual  ?  What 
more  does  revelation  reveal  than  science  guess- 
es?" 

"  I  am  charmed,  my  brother.  Your  logic  is 
invincible,  even  upon  scientific  hypotheses  ;  your 
philosophy,  saving  and  purifying." 

"  But,  Judge,  the  speckled  beauties  are  slipping 
through  these  waters,  and  we  shall  go  hence 
empty-handed,  loon  or  no  loon.  We  must  desist. 


"  THIRTEEN."  25 

But  this  fine  air,  this  patient  quiet,  will  be  conduc- 
ive to  high  thinking.  And  to-night  we  can  string 
our  thoughts.  May  there  be  as  many  fish  on 
your  string  as  thoughts." 

"  Thanks  for  your  delicate  compliment.  There 
will  be  if  you  angle  for  me." 

"  There,  that  will  do." 

"  A  telegram  for  Mrs.  Fearling,"  announced  the 
bell  boy  from  Flume  Cottage. 

"Oh  dear !  ch  dear !  it  has  come  sooner  than  I  ex- 
pected. I  knew  all  this  wicked  plotting  against 
Providence  would  have  some  fearful  end." 

"Now,  Mrs.  Fearling,"  said  the  Minister,  in 
whom,  superstitiously,  she  had  unbounded  confi- 
dence despite  his  heresies,  "  don't  worry.  It  may 
not  be  anything  bad  at  all.  Shall  I  read  it  for 
you?" 

"  Yes ;  wait  till  I  get  my  camphor  bottle." 

The  Judge  wanted  to  add  that  since  she  had  been 
the  only  one  to  defend  the  "faith,"  surely  no 
calamity  would  come  upon  her. 

"  Come  home  as  soon  as  you  can.  Nellie  not 
well.  No  danger.  D.  H.  F.  " 

"  Oh !  my  dear  girl !  to  think  I  should  have  come 
away  and  left  you  at  such  a  time !  When  can  I 
start?  Nellie  and  her  husband  live  at  Chicago, 
you  know.  Can  I  go  to-night?" 

When  she  was  gone,  a  sober  little  spell  came 
upon  the  now  definitely-fixed  thirteen.  It  look- 


26  "  THIRTEEN." 

ed  a  little  queer.  Had  misfortune  already  push- 
ed open  the  door  they  had  too  rudely  shut  ?  Was 
this  the  grim  mocking  of  Fate,  thus  suddenly  to 
imprison  them  within  the  horrible  condition  of 
just  thirteen  and  no  more,  until  every  moment 
would  be  lived  in  expectation  of  some  horror  ? 

Ten  minutes  passed  without  a  word.  Even 
jocose  Mr.  Street  was  silent,  and  evidently  far 
away. 

It  was  getting  serious.  Who  would  break  the 
spell  ? 

Had  they  not  better  abandon  the  project  after 
all?  Was  it  wise  to  play  with  the  invisible? 

The  Judge  gravely  rose  from  his  chair,  and 
seizing  a  mountain-cap  started  around  the  room. 

"  As  treasurer  of  the  A.  A.  S.  A.  I  demand 
the  forfeit  of  one  dollar  each.  We  agreed  that 
if  any  member  should  be  caught,  or  should  catch 
himself,  being  governed " 

"  Enough,  Judge,  "  said  Mr.  Street,  "that's  my 
first,  anyway;  you  are  still  one  ahead  of  me." 

There  were  twelve  dollars  in  the  cap  when  it 
came  to  Mr.  Barton.  "  We  were  to  be  honest.  I 
will  be  so.  My  only  thought  on  the  matter  was, 
that  since  Mrs.  Fearling  was  the  only  one  who 
had  not  betrayed  the  *  faith,'  she  was  not  Judas ; 
and,  therefore,  though  suddenly  called  from  us, 
no  harm  could  befall  her,  though  the  whole  thing 
were  true  and  not  a  delusion.  I  believe  I  am 
free  from  superstition.  Until  I  am  convinced  that 


"THIBTEEN,"  27 

I  am  not,   I   cannot   contribute    to   the    funds   of 
the  society." 

"  Let  him  off,  Judge.  His  funds  are  probably 
low,  and  then,  since  Judas  is  still  here  the  sus- 
picion will  arise  that  perhaps  Mr.  Barton  is  he." 

"Friends,  I  feel  that  we  must  not  again,  even 
in  this  innocent  way,  speak  lightly  of  that  most 
solemn  night  and  sacred  company.  It  is  revolt- 
ing to  think  that  an  irreverent  church  has  coupled 
it  with  a  senseless  superstition,  putting  it  in  the 
mouth  of  every  profane  wretch.  But  we,  as  the 
guardians  of  the  sepulchre  and  its  associations, 
must  teach  a  better  lesson.  Avarice,  theft,  treach- 
ery, will  always  be  the  black-visaged  stranger, 
traitor,  at  the  Lord's  Communion;  while  trust, 
yearning,  and  crying,  'The  Comforter,  the  Com- 
forter!' with  Peter,  will  always  be  the  Lord's 
most  pleasing  friend,  supping  with  Him.  We  do 
well  to  uncover  the  fallacy  of  such  a  supersti- 
tion, but  let  us  do  it  with  reverent  hands.  I 
know  I  have  not  offended  you.  " 

"No,  but  have  called  us  to  ourselves,"  earn- 
estly replied  the  Judge." 

"  Will  you  please  come  to  order  ? "  said  the 
Judge,  pounding  the  rough  table  with  his  fist. 
It  was  the  end  of  the  seventh  day  at  Camp 
Flume. 

"  Do  I  hear  a  nomination  for  the  chairman 
of  this  Association  ? " 


28  "  THIRTEEN." 

"I  move  that  the  Rev.  Barton,  the  only  non- 
contributor  to  the  forfeit  fund,  become  its  per- 
manent chairman,"  said  Mr.  Merritt.  When  the 
vote  had  been  declared,  Mr.  Barton  took  the 
chair  with  a  soberness  in  marked  contrast  with 
the  general  jollity. 

"  I  feel  that  we  are  about  to  institute  a  great 
movement.  I  have  determined,  through  the  agency 
of  the  various  Young  People's  Societies  of  the 
church,  to  organize  groups  of  thirteen  all  over 
the  land,  to  be  known  as  Anti-superstition  Com- 
panies. Not  to  evangelize  the  world,  not  for 
charities,  but  for  the  sole  purpose  of  ridding 
individual  lives  of  the  *  fear  '  of  God  and  a  false 
notion  of  worship.  I  will  not  enter  into  details 
to-night.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  in  my  judgment, 
it  will  do  more  to  purify  Romanism,  Calvinism, 
Christian  Science  and  Spiritualism  of  their  false- 
hoods, and  converge  all  great  movements  towards 
one  absolute  God,  one  revealing  Christ,  and  one 
reverent  life,  than  all  the  expositions  ever  written. 
It  runs  deep.  It  touches  many  great  dogmas  :  the 
operation  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  Conversion,  Prayer, 
the  Devil,  and  even  Hell  itself.  But  to  the  pur- 
pose of  the  evening.  First  we  shall  listen  to  the 
report  of  the  treasurer." 

The  Judge  soberly  arose,  and  adjusting  his 
spectacles,  proceeded  to  read  in  deep  chest-tones  : 
"Mr.  Street,  two  fines.  One  for  self-confessed 
alarm  over  Mrs.  Fearling's  telegram,  the  other  for 


"  THIRTEEN."  29 

a  remark  concerning  a  red-headed  girl  and  a  white 
horse." 

"  I  give  notice  here  of  protest  against  the  second 
item,"  shouted  Mr.  Street,  "  on  the  ground  of  its 
being  irrelevant,  immaterial  and  irreligious." 

Mr.  Street  was  called  down  by  the  chairman : 
"  The  treasurer  will  proceed  without  further  inter- 
ruption." 

"Mrs.  Truner,  three  fines.  One  for  telegram, 
another  for  an  incautious  remark  about  spilled 
salt,  and  the  third  for  asking  the  treasurer  to  make 
a  wish  over  the  new  moon.  Mrs.  Mannell,  one 
for  telegram,  the  other  for  moving  away  from,  a 
'  death-tick '  in  the  west  door-post  of  Camp 
Flume." 

But  we  need  not  follow  the  list  of  fines 
further.  They  were  nearly  all  of  a  humorous  na- 
ture, closing  with  the  Judge's  three,  the  loon,  the 
telegram,  and  a  proposed  "  philopena  "  with  Mrs. 
Merritt.  There  were  thirty-six  dollars  in  the 
treasury.  Twenty  would  be  sufficient  for  the 
summer  reading  supply.  It  was  voted  to  hand 
over  the  remainder  to  the  chairman  as  a  corre- 
spondence fund  in  the  organization  of  the  new  or- 
der. 

Following  are  a  few  of  the  reports  of  the  week's 
good  and  ill  luck : 

Mr.  Street's  :  "Haven't  missed  a  meal." 

"  That  has  been  our  misfortune,"  cried  several. 

"  Have  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  Giant  without 


30  "  THIRTEEN." 

a  guide  and  returned  alive.  Have  a  deer's  head, 
as  you  all  know,  mounted  ready  for  shipment 
home." 

"  He  bought  it  at  the  '  Adirondack  House  ' 
for  seventeen  dollars,"  whispered  the  Judge  to 
Mrs.  Truner. 

"Have  just  had  a  letter  from  Charley,  saying 
the  house  had  finished  a  deal  netting  ten  thou- 
sand dollars.  Heard  of  a  bear  that  was  caught 
several  miles  away  from  here  last  winter.  Traced 
the  story  and  found,  first,  it  had  only  left  one 
foot  in  the  trap;  and  last,  that  the  foot  belonged 
to  a  cat  of  the  pole  persuasion.  No,  I  didn't  buy 
the  trap.  Havn't  had  a  single  mosquito  bite.  Con- 
science has  been  clear,  and,  best  of  all,  every  mail 
brings  me  word  of  the  health  and  content  of  my 
babies  at  home — God  bless  them." 

Mrs.  Truner's  report :  "  The  pain  in  my  head 
is  gone.  I  have  lived  more  in  seven  days  in 
these  mountains  than  in  seven  years  before." 

"  That  makes  you  six  years  my  senior,  doesn't 
it,  dear  ? "  said  her  husband.  A  look  silenced  him. 

"  I  never  knew  how  near  one  could  get  to 
Heaven,  and  how  much  one  could  love  friends  un- 
til now.  It  has  been  a  sweet,  tender,  dream-like 
week  to  me.  If  thirteen  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it,  twelve  of  you  had,  I  know." 

"  Count  God,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Barton. 

"  I  have,  and  as  I  never  did  before.  If  thir- 
teen has  affected  me  at  all,  it  has  been  in  the 


"  THIRTEEN."  31 

thought  that,  after  all,  when  Judas  repented,  and 
threw  down  the  accursed  silver,  he  may  have 
been  forgiven  by  his  Master  and  the  number  thus 
kept  unbroken,  a  symbol  of  God's  mercy  rather 
than  a  mark  of  fear  to  little  souls." 

"  I  have  long  believed  that,  Mrs.  Truner,"  again 
exclaimed  the  Minister. 

"  I  have  written  a  little  verse  out  of  the  full- 
ness of  my  joy.  I  ask  to  have  it  made  a  part 
of  my  report : 

"Thy  tears,  oh  son  of  perdition,  may  later  quench 
The  fires  of  thy  soul-losing  love  of  place  and  pelf. 
His  blood  may  redder  be  than  all  thy  scarlet  sin, 
His  mercy  deeper  than  thy  hateful,  traitrous  self." 

A  solemn  hush  had  come  upon  all  from  the  ex- 
perience of  this  true  woman. 

The  Judge  followed.  "  Camp  Flume  will  long 
be  held  sacred  in  my  memory.'  For  some  time — 
and  this  is  my  confession — I  have  been  hanging 
between  my  old,  blind  faith  and  atheism.  Strange 
that,  a  teacher  of  discrimination  in  law,  I  had 
never  learned  it  in  religion.  My  mind  -turned 
away  from  the  idea  of  the  absolute  sovereignty 
of  Deity  and  the  slavery  of  man.  An  avenging 
God,  taking  his  pleasure  in  over-riding  weak 
mortals  upon  whom  the  sin-taint  of  centuries 
had  come,  leaving  them  all  broken  and  help- 
less, was  the  nightmare  of  my  religious  musings. 
My  own  consciousness  told  me  that  God  is,  and 
that  the  soul  is  of  Him,  and  immortal;  and  that 


32  "  THIETEEN." 

the  struggle  after  righteousness  can  be  the  only 
bond  between  God  and  man.  But  I  failed  to  discern 
between  my  superstition  and  my  rational  faith. 
I  came  near  giving  intuition  and  reason  the  lie, 
denying  myself,  and  crying  out  '  There  is  no  God.' 
Nothing  at  times  but  the  haunting  voice  of  my 
youth,  saying,  '  The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart, 
There  is  no  God,'  kept  me  in  my  pride  from  this 
open  denial.  Prayer  only  mocked  me.  I  had 
been  taught  to  pray  for  physical  blessings  as 
though  they  depended  upon  my  praying.  I  now 
know  that  prayer  is  a  spiritual  petitioning  for 
spiritual  blessing,  and  has  its  answer  not  merely 
in  the  changed  mood  of  the  petitioner,  but  in  an 
actual  answering  with  spiritual  strength  and  con- 
solation from  the  Great  Heart.  I  never  was  more 
grateful  than  now,  however,  for  physical  blessings, 
for  existence  in  a  -physical  condition  where  law  is 
so  unchanging,  and  bounty  so  unfailing,  that  indi- 
vidual effort  can  secure  daily  bread ;  gratitude 
make  it  doubly  sweet. 

"  I  never  understood  Revelation.  I  know  now  that 
God  and  immortality  are  in  all  human  conscious- 
ness ;  that  revelation  comes,  not  as  a  mystifier,  but 
as  a  revealer  of  particular  ends  to  be  reached  by 
particular  means.  The  Bible  has  ten-fold  more 
meaning  to  me  now  than  it  did.  Authorship,  in- 
cidents and  methods  of  inspiration,  have  no  rela- 
tive value  compared  with  the  Christo-centric 
prophesy  in  the  old,  and  fulfillment  in  the  new 


"  THIRTEEN."  33 

Covenant.  The  Trinity  as  a  psychological  prob- 
lem maddened  me  into  sullenness  at  times.  Now, 
I  apprehend  the  one  God,  Eternal,  Everlasting; 
Jesus  his  special  exponent  in  the  flesh,  now  be- 
come King  of  kings,  and  Lord  of  lords ;  and  the 
Holy  Spirit  the  personified  process  of  the  Father's 
saving  activities.  I  am  surprised  to  find  how 
clearly  Jesus  taught  that  the  Holy  Spirit's  work 
should  be  hidden  from  the  senses  of  men,  his 
testimony  to  be  made  through  chosen  human 
agents  by  mouth  and  pen. 

"  The  whole  field  of  Eschatology  seems  clear  to 
me  now.  Sin  is  the  violation  of  known  law.  No 
guilt  attaches  otherwise.  There  is  one  life,  here 
and  hereafter.  But  where  there  is  irresponsible 
ignorance  here,  light  will  be  given  hereafter. 

To  know  God  is  to  love  men  in  the  sacrificial 
spirit  of  Jesus  Christ.  I  believe,  therefore,  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  to  be  real,  whereas  I  once 
thought  it  merely  ideal,  figurative.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  the  '  meek  shall  inherit  the  earth.' 

"  I  feel  as  though  I  had  been  the  betrayer,  but  am 
at  last  willing  to  confess  my  faith,  even  before  the 
priests,  before  whom  I  am  resolved  to  fling  the 
purchase  price  of  my  denying  kiss.  Even  this 
thirteen  of  Camp  Flume  shall  have  no  Judas  but  a 
repentant  one." 

As  this  great  man  talked,  the  place  seemed  like 
the  Camp  of  Israel  with  the  flaming  Shekinah. 
Fine  in  physique,  noble  of  brow,  strong  in  mental 

3 


34  "  THIRTEEN." 

power,  magnetic,  fall  of  great  impulses,  renowned 
on  the  bench  for  his  justice,  stern  in  his  denuncia- 
tion of  the  violation  of  law ;  it  is  not  surprising 
that  the  little  company  felt  in  the  presence  of  a 
master,  who  had  become  as  a  little  child.  His 
voice  was  tremulous,  not  with  any  maudlin  senti- 
ment, nor  by  overwrought  nerves,  but  with  an 
emotion  of  worship,  and  a  mental  grasp  of  great 
and  high  truths.  He  had  traveled  a  long  way 
in  seven  days  toward  the  very  heart  of  the 
Mighty ;  and  while  it  made  him  eloquent  as 
Paul,  he  had  also  become  as  tender  as  Mary. 
No  Damascus  light  had  called  him  to  Apostleship, 
but  the  light  that  lighteth  every  man  which 
cometh  into  the  world  had  been  shining  through 
the  shadows  of  his  life  all  the  week.  As  children 
lean  against  their  mother's  knees,  while  she  talks 
of  angels  and  of  the  Bethlehem  cradle,  so  these 
listened  and  watched,  dim-eyed.  They  caught, 
every  one,  some  large  measure  of  his  spirit.  The 
mood  divine  was  upon  all.  No  little  physical  or 
hysterical  thrills  were  moving  within  them.  No 
boisterous  manifestation  without.  They  had  seen, 
often  with  disgust,  the  hypnotic  influence  of  relig- 
ious excitement ;  but  now  they  were  the  witnesses 
of  the  power  of  the  truth  over  mind.  Gospel  truth, 
Holy  Spirit-quickened  truth.  They  remembered 
how  on  Pentecost  the  spoken  words  of  Peter  con- 
vinced and  converted;  how  Paul  preached  to 
Lydia,»  and  Philip  opened  his  mouth  to  the  Ethio- 


"  THIRTEEN."  35 

plan's  conversion.  Always  and  everywhere  men 
have  been  truly  converted  only  through  the  truth 
put  into  the  form  of  their  mental  conception. 

"  The  truth  shall  make  you  free" 

"Now,  Mr.  Barton,"  suggested  some  one,  quietly. 

"You  have  just  had  my  report.  Everything 
else  of  the  week  is  lost  to  me  in  that.  I  was  never 
so  sure  of  God,  so  sure  of  revelation,  so  sure  of 
Eternal  Mercy  and  Life  as  now.  It  has  been  a 
blessed  week,  an  upper-chamber  company.  Our 
Lord  and  Master  has  not  been  far  away.", 

All  was  silence  for  many  minutes.  The  cool 
air  of  the  mountain  summits  came  softly  down  its 
pine-fragrant  way,  soothing  away  doubt  as  a 
mother's  evening  song,  but  astir  with  the  breath 
of  God. 

Away  to  the  southwest,  serene  Hurricane  leaned 
against  the  star-flecked  sky  in  repose,  and  with 
an  uplift  of  stature  like  one  who,  feeling  his  secu- 
rity, stands  poised  between  great  dangers,  confi- 
dent of  the  issue.  The  lonely  whip-poor-will  told 
his  tale  of  faithful  watch-care  ;  in  it  was  no  dismal 
note  of  death- warning  to  these  exalted  souls  think- 
ing now  of  home,  of  burdens  laid  aside  for  this 
brief  rest. 

Down  the  valley  the  northern  lights  were  moving 
in  splendid  panorama  from  east  to  west.  Their 
uplifted  arms  gave  one  the  thought  that  some- 
where a  mighty  chorus  of  voices  was  chanting 
Nature's  vespers.  From  the  cottage  near  by  a 


36  "  THIRTEEN." 

clear,  soprano  strain  grew  upon  them  by  swelling 
measures,  until  it  awakened  within  them  echoes 
of  some  far-off,  half-lost  music  of  other  years. 
Sweeter,  but  stronger,  it  came  :  "  Hope  thou  in 
God." 

Faint,  delicate  echoes  came  up  from  the  brook- 
riven  flume  below,  like  the  accompaniment  of 
unseen  singers.  The  spell  could  not  be  broken ; 
they  would  not  break  it  for  golden  wealth.  The 
heavenly  portals  were  ajar.  The  earth- soul  was 
in  tune  with  the  Over-Soul.  Their  quiet  rapture 
and  deepening  resolution  were  a  prayer,  an  all- 
controlling  prayer.  In  his  wordless  heart  of 
hearts,  Mr.  Barton  was  communing  in  marvelous 
nearness  with  the  Mountain  Preacher  of  Judea. 
If  words  could  express  his  emotion  they  would 
be:  "Dear,  wounded,  despised,  pierced  Man  of 
Sorrow ;  Lover  of  wounded,  despised,  pierced  men 
of  griefs ;  Walker  of  crested  waves,  and  Healer 
of  sick  souls;  Thou  earth-held  Son  of  the  Infinite 
Love,  Thou  constant,  tenderest,  Only  Brother  of 
my  infirm  and  inconstant  self;  by  Thy  Spirit,  by 
Thy  truth,  Thyself  lead  me  to  think  only  God,  to 
feel  only  God,  to  will  only  God.  Thus  let  the 
Highest  dwell  in  me,  until  that  great  day  when  I 
shall  dwell  with  Thee  forever  and  forever.  Through 
me,  come  Thou,  O  Christ,  into  other  helpless  souls, 
until  the  brotherhood  of  man  shall  be  truly  begun. 
Amen  and  Amen." 

The  Judge  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 


"THIRTEEN."  37 

"  How  I  wish  Mrs.  Fearling  might  be  here  to-night. 
I  believe  this  reverent  spirit  would  seem  infinitely 
better  to  her  than  her  small  religious  fears  ;  her 
quakings  and  unrest." 

"A  telegram  for  the  chairman  of  the  A.  Anti- 
superstition  Association.  Charges  paid,"  came 
the  shrill  voice  of  the  bell-boy,  startling  them  half 
out  of  their  wits. 

"  What  in  the  world  can  that  mean  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  of  our  existence  ? " 

"  Or  our  whereabouts  ? "  came  from  several 
voices. 

"  Read  it  quick !" 

"  Give  it  to  Mr.  Barton." 

"  Nellie  is  the  mother  of  fine  twin  boys.  All 
doing  well.  I  am  a  convert.  Will  send  two 
dollars  for  the  forfeit-fund  by  next  mail. — GRAND- 
MA." 


THE  FAIRIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM. 

"  THE  LODGE  "  was  locked.  It  was  dead  of 
night.  But  Au  Sable  Chasm  was  countlesbly 
thronged.  For  the  first  time  gay  laughter  could 
be  heard  above  the  roar  of  the  channel-plunged 
torrent. 

The  moon  for  some  time  had  been  gleaming 
down  upon  the  long  and  sinuous  water-flow  wind- 
ing along  like  some  angry  monster  between 
straight  rock-walls,  lifting  sheer  two  hundred  feet 
their  inlaid  columns  of  inexpressible  beauty.  On 
this  particular  night  her  path  would  long  lie  just 
overhead,  and  the  fairies  might  dare  the  darkness 
of  the  chasm  without  risk  to  their  supple  limbs. 

For  many  seasons  they  had  heard  of  the  wonders 
of  Au  Sable.  Boastful  little  sprites  on  Mount 
Marcy  and  old  White  Face,  and  even  the  contented 
little  elves,  centuries  old,  on  Lake  Placid,  had 
been  vexed  again  and  again  as  they  overheard 
thoughtless  visitors  extol  the  charms  of  the 
gardened- Gorge  miles  away. 

For  days  past  tiny  runners  had  been  leaping 
from  rock  to  rock,  swinging  from  pine  to  pine, 
swimming  brooks  and  lakes,  until  the  news 

(38) 


THE  FAIEIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM.  39 

had  gone  like  forest  fire:  "A  midnight  meet  at 
Au  Sable." 

From  Marcy  to  Avalanche,  from  Mclntyre  to 
Seward  across  the  Indian  Pass,  from  Placid  and 
the  Saranacs  down  to  Hurricane,  from  Keene  and 
Pleasant  Valleys,  the  energetic  and  thoroughly 
excited  little  kings  and  their  entire  kingdoms  were 
prepared  for  flight,  when  the  signal  should  burn  on 
Marcy's  heights. 

The  Adirondacks  were  never  so  astir.  It  was 
rumored  that  on  this  night  the  signal  flames  would 
fly.  The  birds,  frightened-eyed,  were  hushed  all 
day.  Little  children  danced  back  and  forth  to 
their  mammas  with  the  strangest  puzzling  ques- 
tions. Even  papas  nodded  at  their  pole's  end,  and 
dreamed  queer  dreams  of  streams  where  the 
trout  always  bite.  ^ 

Not  a  soul  slept  in  all  the  Range  when  night 
came  on.  Some  said  there  was  too  much  electric- 
ity in  the  air,  and  that  it  would  storm  before 
morning.  Others  danced  like  mad  on  the  polished 
floors  of  the  great  hotels.  The  babies  kept  their 
wide-awake  nurses  running  from  parlor  to  parlor 
for  numberless  good-night  kisses  from  bright-eyed 
mammas. 

Just  as  the  clock  struck  twelve  every  papa  and 
mamma  yawned  and  lazily  sought  their  beds, 
while  the  sweet  babies  turned  their  faces  to  the 
wall  and  slept  sound  and  dreamless.  The  flames 
on  Marcy  had  kissed  the  moonbeams  just  at 


40  THE  FAIBIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM. 

twelve  with  gay  little  quirks  of  half-strange  em- 
barrassment. 

Like  a  rising,  sun-smitten  mist  the  invisible 
populace  of  the  Adirondacks  from  lake  and  moun- 
tain swept  up,  and  converged  Eastward.  Soon 
vast  Lake  Champlain  was  seen  asleep  under  the 
watching  thousand-eyed  sky.  It  stirred  gently  in 
faint  ripples,  like  a  babe  smiling  in  its  dreams,  as 
it  felt  the  thrill  of  the  oncoming  host  of  fairies. 

Swooping  down  at  last,  and  settling  in  serried 
ranks  on  poised  wings,  they  hovered  just  below 
the  "Rainbow  Falls,"  near  the  entrance  of  Au 
Sable  Chasm. 

Thousands  of  human  eyes  have  beamed  with 
the  reflection  of  the  tinted  bows  in  the  spray,  seen 
here  in  the  bright  sunlight.  But  never  before  had 
moon-and-star-beam  rainbows  been  seen  by  the 
sharpest  eyes.  There  they  hung,  ten  thousand 
times  ten  thousand,  crossing  and  recrossing  in 
countless  curves  set  in  inimitable  geometric  de- 
signs. The  whir  of  wings  after  a  moment's 
silence  was  finely  expressive  of  their  pleased 
astonishment. 

Suddenly  the  after-silence  was  broken  by  a 
sonorous,  rotund  voice  calling  above  the  waters. 
At  once  they  knew  it  to  be  their  great  Priest  and 
Prophet,  who  had  been  foremost  in  their  new 
venture  upon  undiscovered  territory.  They  turned 
with  fixed  attention,  as  was  their  wont  when  their 
religious  teacher  spoke. 


THE  FAIBIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM.  41 

He  stood  on  the  loftiest  pinnacle  of  "Pulpit 
Rock,"  just  at  the  bend  of  the  Gorge  as  one  goes 
down.  A  huge  pile  of  layered  granite  overhangs 
the  foam  here — a  fit  place  for  elemental  nature's 
Priest  to  interpret  her  laws  if  He  would. 

But  the  power  of  the  night  and  the  scene  were 
upon  this  elfin  prophet.  He  spoke  of  light  and 
truth ;  that  his  people  were  Nature's  highest 
expression.  He  declared  that  music  and  pictures 
and  motion  were  personified  in  them.  They  must 
make  no  discords,  nor  group  into  any  ugly  forms, 
nor  move  out  upon  any  unlighted  lines.  So  what 
had  threatened  to  be  a  frenzied  assault  and 
seizure,  suddenly  turned  to  an  altar  hour  and 
worship. 

A  chant  followed.  I  wish  you  might  have  heard 
it.  All  the  songs  of  tho  birds,  all  the  hum  of  the 
bees,  all  the  murmur  of  waters,  and  the  sighing  of 
winds  were  in  it.  Yes,  and  at  its  close,  all  the 
thunder  and  swell  of  all  the  torrents,  in  all  the 
gorges,  as  it  swung  up  and  up  to  the  stars,  and  to 
the  Fashioner  of  stars  ! 

Then  slowly  and  reverently  they  began  their 
descent  into  the  Chasm.  Clinging  to  jutting 
ledges,  clasping  bending  ferns,  drinking  dew  from 
the  thousand  blue-bells,  regardless  of  the  iron  rail 
and  path,  they  came  to  the  very  water's  edge. 

They  stood  in  astonishment  before  the  "Ele- 
phant's Head,"  projecting  from  huge  "  Spit  Rock." 
The  Gothic  Mountain  people  declared  that  it 


42  THE  FAIEIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM. 

belonged  to  the  "Elephant's  Body"  of  their 
mountain,  so  plainly  seen  from  Lake  Placid,  and 
began  to  talk  of  gigantic  schemes  for  its  immedi- 
ate removal.  "The  head  and  body  must  be  put 
together." 

Still  others  gasped  with  delight  in  the  dashing 
spray,  plunging  back  and  forth  in  a  whirlpool  of 
waters. 

Many  scanned  the  rocks  for  sign -boards  to 
catch  the  human  idea  of  this  unsurpassed  beauty. 
As  they  turned  to  the  left  they  read:  "Devil's 
Oven,"  and  "  Hell  Gate."  They  groaned  with  in- 
dignation that  anything  so  sublime  should  be 
coupled  with  such  repulsive  and  horrible  notions. 
Their  religion  was  chiefly  of  heaven  anyway. 
They  had  heaven  already,  they  said.  Why  think 
of  hell?  They  hated  the  Devil.  They  wanted 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  him. 

They  instantly  changed  these  offensive  names 
to  "Elves'  Cave,"  and  "  Moonbeam  Pass,"  for  just 
then  the  moon  hung  directly  over  their  heads  so 
that  there  was  scarcely  a  shadow  in  the  Gorge  save 
at  the  sharp  corners  here  and  there.  But  when, 
leaping  on,  they  saw  "Jacob's  Ladder "  rising 
straight  and  inviting  out  of  the  very  water  up  to  the 
stars,  step  by  step,  their  exultation  knew  no 
bounds.  They  leaped  across,  they  bounded  up  to 
its  very  heights,  singing  their  hallelujahs  from 
its  moon-lit  summit. 


THE  FAIRIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM.  43 

Others  kept  on,  walking  on  tiny  rock-ways  where 
not  even  birds  dared  to  perch. 

The  hallelujah  chorus  from  the  top  of  Jacob's 
Ladder  sent  down  showers  of  maple  leaves  upon 
the  now  quieter  waters.  They  were  seized  eager- 
ly and  made  to  serve  as  boats,  guided  with  unerr- 
ing skill.  As  the  elves  leaned  over  the  boat- 
edges  they  looked  down  into  forty  feet  of  dark, 
shadowy  water.  But  shot  with  moonbeams  as  it 
was,  their  keen  eyes  saw  to  the  very  bottom,  where 
lay  a  wealth  of  stones,  both  as  to  color  and  form 
never  equaled  in  their  most  secret  brooks  on  Marcy 
and  Hurricane. 

Ten,  twenty,  and  thirty  feet  apart,  the  great 
colored  walls  rose  until  the  sky  seemed  to  rest 
upon  them.  Seamed  and  rent  and  notched  at 
the  curves  like  great  wheels,  now  moss-covered, 
now  bare  and  smooth  like  marble,  now  hung  with 
ferns,  and  plants  growing  with  iiower-cups  down, 
they  were  veritable  hanging  gardens. 

The  elves  did  well  to  re-name  the  Gorge 
"  Heaven's  Shorter  Path." 

Above  the  clatter  they  heard  once  more  the 
prophet's  voice.  They  hastened  on,  expecting 
another  surprise.  Poised  above  one  another's 
heads  until  they  formed  a  hollow  dome,  looking 
down  they  saw  the  wonderful  "Jacob's  Well." 
Into  a  little  plateau  of  hard  rock  some  water-spun 
stone  had  ground  out  through  the  years  when  the 
waters  were  higher  than  now,  a  resting  place  of 


44  THE  FAIEIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM. 

concentric  circles.  It  had  rest,  doubtless,  only 
when  it  was  worn  out.  As  the  result,  a  perfect 
stone  well  had  been  sunk  thirty  feet  or  more.  In- 
side it  looked  as  though  hugh  stone  rings  had 
been  laid  one  upon  another. 

With  solemn  tone  the  prophet  told  them  of 
Jacob  and  the  Egypt  of  the  Sun-elves,  until  they 
hung  listening  with  bated  breath. 

Suddenly  a  belated  firefly  flashed  in  the  great 
side-depths  of  "Hyde's  Cave,"  just  across  from 
"Jacob's  Well."  Ten  thousand  sprites  started 
for  its  double  entrance  cut  a  hundred  feet  high. 
They  rolled  round  pebbles  down  the  steep  incline 
and  set  the  water  quivering,  tipping  the  tiny  boats 
from  side  to  side.  It  was  marvelous  how  these 
boatmen  shot  the  fiercest  rapids  with  their  bend- 
ing leaves.  Whirled  about  and  under,  they  came 
out  only  the  fresher  for  their  warm  bath. 

"  Hide's  Cave  "  they  re-named  "  Lovers'  Confes- 
sional." Here,  they  said,  lovers  must  separate  at 
the  entrace,  go  within,  and  commune  alone ;  then 
return,  meet  again,  and  confess  every  desire. 

Returning  to  the  opposite  side  they  came  sud- 
denly upon  "  Smuggler's  Pass."  They  shivered  and 
passed  quickly  by,  but  paused  and  appointed  a 
committee  of  one  hundred  to  return,  explore  and 
re-name.  Observing  so  many  notched,  wheel-like 
stones  on  either  side  of  the  defile,  they  reported 
"  the  Cave  of  the  Mills."  It  was  accepted. 

In  a  moment  they  were  at  the  "Post  Office" — an 


THE  FAIRIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM.  45 

overhanging,  narrow  room,  cut  into  a  hundred  cell- 
like  boxes  for  honeyed  letters.  Instantly  every  elf 
fell  to  writing  on  blades  of  grass  and  flower 
leaves  with  colored  bits  of  sand.  Such  mirth,  such 
rallying  of  contending  parties  over  a  race  for  the 
largest  number  of  letters  !  Such  comparing  of 
notes  and  whispered  "quizzes"  as  made  the  Gorge 
echo  from  "  Pulpit  "  to  "  Table  Rock.!  " 

Soon  "  Table  Rock  "  was  reached  and  proved  a 
delightful  resting  place.  Just  back  of  and  be- 
yond it  lay  the  "Anvil,"  beneath  whose  shelter 
a  little  booth  had  been  built  where  "  views  "  and 
"  soda  pop "  were  sold  to  visitors  at  "  reduced 
rates."  They  did  not  need  the  views.  Ten  thou- 
sand negatives  had  already  been  impressed  upon 
a  thousand  tiny  kodaks'  film. 

But  the  "  pop  ! "  The  little  elves  from  the 
Lakes  knew  the  pop  of  corks  and-fizz  of  foam  well 
enough  to  look  very  wise.  But  how  to  get  at  it  was 
the  question.  As  the  first  bottle  of  "strawberry" 
lay  on  the  bar  it  looked  like  a  hugh  cannon  load- 
ed and  primed.  A  brave  little  Avalanche  king 
suggested  that  they  fasten  the  wire  to  a  nail  and 
then  pry  the  bottle  up  until  it  should  slip  out  and 
let  the  cork  fly.  In  a  minute  all  was  in  readiness. 
Hundreds  gathered  about  to  see  the  fun  and  to 
cheer  their  hard-working  little  brothers.  The  bottle 
had  been  severely  shaken  in  the  melee.  When  at 
last  it  slipped  its  wire,  out  came  the  cork  with  a 
thunderous  report,  knocking  a  hundred  little  men 


46  THE  FAIRIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM. 

backward  into  the  water,  and  sending  the  foaming 
pop  over  ten  times  as  many  more.  Then  there  were 
cries  of  distress  and  fright,  and  shouts  of  laughter 
and  derision.  A  few  were  silent.  They  were  pour- 
ing the  remainder  of  the  contents  into  bluebell 
cups,  and  with  little  gurgles  of  delight  letting  the 
red  juice  run  down  their  dry  throats. 

Even  fairies  learn  by  experience.  So  bottle  af- 
ter bottle  was  opened  with  the  muzzle  of  the  can- 
non pointed  towards  the  opposite  shore.  When 
the  empty  bottles  had  been  replaced  in  the  ice- 
chest  they  called  for  a  dance  upon  the  broad  rock. 

Behind  the  "  Anvil "  rose  "  Sentinel  "  and  "  Ca- 
thedral Rocks  " — rounded  columns  straight  from 
water-edged  base  to  tree-pinnacled  point.  In  the 
spaces  between  these  they  arranged  the  orchestra. 
Tier  above  tier  they  sat,  noisy,  nervous,  tuning, 
turning  their  music  to  catch  the  moonlight.  They 
soon  were  swaying  with  the  baton  of  the  leader, 
who  stood  bold  and  commanding  on  the  top  of  the 
"  Anvil." 

One  had  but  to  listen  to  know  where  Mozart, 
Schumann  and  Chopin  fonnd  their  themes.  In 
dreams  the  fairies  had  been  their  masters.  But  a 
dream's  interpretation  is  never  all  the  dream  was. 

The  half-crying,  half- slumbering  waltz ;  the 
bright,  wakeful  schottische,  and  the  great,  four- 
square, solemn,  stately  march,  sung  their  senses 
away.  In  a  dreamy  maze  of  emotion  they  cele- 
brated the  finding  of  so  marvelous  a  Palace. 


THE  FAIRIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM.  47 

For  already,  as  by  one  thought,  it  had  been  de- 
termined to  transfer  the  Supreme  Throne  from 
Marcy  to  Au  Sable.  It  needed  now  but  the  de- 
cree of  the  Grand  Council,  and  the  sanction  and 
blessing  of  the  Prophet  Priest. 

They  stood  looking  off  from  the  edge  of  "  Table 
Rock,"  wondering  what  lay  beyond,  but  too  ex- 
hausted by  the  dance  to  climb  further  the  rough 
paths,  while  a  ventursome  little  elf,  exploring  an 
under-rock  path,  discovered  the  great  boat  which 
has  carried  so  many  awe-spelled  travelers  down 
the  Gorge,  shooting  fretful  rapids  and  plunging 
over  great  wave-swells.  But  one  word  was  needed. 
The  boat  was  instantly  filled,  hundreds  clinging 
to  its  sides. 

I  do  not  know  what  unseen  guide  kept  them 
off  the  rocks  as  they  dashed  madly  on.  We 
know  so  little  at  best  of  life  and  its  forces.  But 
harmlessly  Nature  led  them  through.  They  live 
so  close  to  her,  she  may  be  kinder  to  them  than  to 
us.  I  know  that  neither  lightning,  nor  flood,  nor 
wind  has  ever  hurt  one  of  them,  while  fire  is 
their  panacea  for  all  pain.  Whereas,  by  our 
rebellion  against  nature,  we  are  torn  and  bruis- 
ed and  killed,  they  live  on  unscathed.  Perchance 
when  the  millennial  age  shall  come,  and  the 
New  Jerusalem  shall  be  let  down  out  of  heaven, 
our  spiritual  bodies  may  realize  this  old  earth 
spiritualized — a  Paradise  Regained. 

.After  the   half-mile  ride,  over  depths  of   water 


48  THE  FAIRIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM. 

sixty  feet,  the  cliffs  growing  lower,  they  landed 
at  last  on  a  level  plateau.  With  a  shout  and  a 
scramble  they  turned  back  over  the  hills  until 
they  came  to  the  great  "  Stairway,"  with  its 
foot  at  "  Table  Rock."  Descending,  they  re- 
assembled with  one  accord  about  the  Highest, 
as  they  name  their  Supreme  Monarch. 

The  council  had  held  its  session  here  in  their 
absence.  The  decree  was  ready.  These  were 
the  words :  "  By  decree  of  the  Grand  Council  of 
the  elves  of  the  Adirondacks  we  proclaim  these 
words,  signed  by  the  light  of  Serius  and  seal- 
ed with  the  blood  of  the  Hidden  Altar.  This 
riven  hill,  with  its  living  fountain,  shall  be  and  is 
forever  henceforth  the  sacred  and  inviolable  dwell- 
ing place  of  the  Highest  and  His  Court.  Here  pe- 
titions shall  be  heard.  Here  justice  declared  and 
mercy  counseled.  If  there  be  strife  between  two, 
here  it  shall  melt  into  warm  embrace.  If  black- 
ness of  mind,  here  shall  be  recreative  light.  If  the 
death-touch — which  comes  only  when  one  wishes 
for  what  another  has — here,  under  due  penitence, 
it  shall  be  removed.  Every  elf  an  elf,  no  more, 
no  less.  Rulers  and  ruled  alike.  We  rule  for 
Elfdom,  you  serve  for  Elfdom.  One  end — the 
happiness  of  all.  It  is  done." 

The  Priest  and  Prophet  standing  on  the  crown 
of  "  Cathedral  Rock,"  two  hundred  feet  above 
them,  enrapt  in  a  soft  but  glowing  light  that  seem- 
ed to  come  from  some  single  star  (I  wish  I  knew 


THE  FAIRIES  AT  AU  SABLE  CHASM.  49 

which  one  ;  I  should  surely  tell  you),  with  uplifted 
hands,  seen  by  every  eye  and  heard  by  every  ear, 
catching  the  exact  pitch  of  the  falling  waters,  in 
musical  cadences  atune  with  the  night  and  the 
place,  breathed  down  upon  them  his  Amen  and 
Amen. 

And  thus  the  empty,  unhallowed,  Au  Sable 
Chasm,  beautiful  but  soulless,  came  to  be  possess- 
ed of  the  very  heart  of  life. 

And  now  every  fern,  every  moss-leaf,  every 
fleck  of  spray,  and  every  shadowy  deep,  the  whole 
length  and  depth  of  Au  Sable  is  instinct  with  life 
— the  breathing,  pulsing,  communing  Soul  of  the 
Adirondacks. 

4 


MAIDEN  ROCK. 

THE  point,  as  well  as  the  place,  of  attack  was 
Maiden  Rock.  He  had  been  premeditating  it  all 
day.  He  did  not  want  to  seem  abrupt,  but  in  his 
present  mood  nothing  seemed  precipitous. 

She  had  been  like  flint  to  all  his  sparks  thus 
far.  He  wondered  if  there  were  any  tinder  about 
her. 

He  must  speak  some  time.  The  sooner — well, 
it  might  be  for  better,  it  might  be  for  worse ;  he 
hoped  it  would  be  for  both. 

Surely  if  scenic  properties  could  add  anything  to 
his  cause,  the  present  moment  could  not  be  sur- 
passed. Below  them  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet 
lay  Bouquet  River.  Just  beyond,  the  famous 
"  Split  Rock  Falls  "  began  its  descent  of  one  hun- 
dred feet,  down  its  rock-rough  gorge  channel. 

On  the  edge  of  this  very  rock  where  they  stood, 
Eutoka,  a  jealousy-mad  Indian  maiden,  years 
ago,  restless  over  her  lover's  unkept  promise  to 
tryst  with  her  at  this  romantic  spot,  had  leaped 
dumb  and  resolute  into  the  shallow  waters  below. 
Surely  nature  and  romance  were  with  him — but 
Fate?  Well,  a  word,  and  Fate  would  be  with 

(50) 


MAIDEN  BOCK.  51 

him,  too;  but  what?  It  was  the  uncertainty  of 
the  issue  that  made  him  hesitate. 

The  "Hermit  Guide"  who  presides  over  the 
destinies  of  those  who  visit  his  Gorge,  had  shrewdly 
stepped  aside  after  relating  the  legend  of  the  rock. 
A  confirmed  old  bachelor  of  nearly  forty  winters — 
summers  would  be  better,  since  everything  in  the 
Adirondacks  is  counted  by  summers — yet  he  had 
not  forgotten  how  much  more  some  minutes  are  to 
some  people  than  to  others.  He  had  at  once 
guessed  the  secret  of  the  young  man.  He  was  not 
so  sure  that  the  sweet-faced  young  girl  had  a 
secret  yet. 

"  What  an  odd  genius  the  guide  is." 

The  silence  was  too  oppressive ;  after  waiting 
several  minutes  she  had  decided  to  break  it  her- 
self. Merlin  Hall,  her  lover,  had  been  afraid  to 
open  his  mouth  for  fear  the  first  word  would  be 
some  kind  of  a  blunder.  This  was  a  happy  relief 
for  the  moment.  It  gave  him  a  decision,  too.  He 
would  wait  now  until  Fate  gave  him  a  hint.  He 
would  not  hazard  everything  at  a  single  venture. 

He  replied  rather  sarcastically :  "  If  you  have 
reference  to  his  dress  and  manner,  I  should  say, 
yes." 

"But  I  don't.  The  idea  of  his  building  that 
rustic  pavilion  back  there  in  the  woods.  Why,  it 
is  a  perfect  piece  of  art.  Did  you  notice  his 
peculiar  eyes  ? " 


52  MAIDEN  BOCK. 

"No;  I  noticed  the  peculiar  cut  of  his  hair. 
There  wasn't  any  cut." 

"  Oh,  didn't  you  see  anything  good  about  him  ? 
I  should  have  thought  his  playing 'Home,  Sweet 
Home,'  on  the  one  string  of  his  old  violin  would 
have  impressed  you." 

"Yes,  that  was  rather  a  remarkable  feat.  You 
noticed  probably  that  he  used  his  feet  somewhat 
in  playing  it." 

"  Oh,  well,  that  is  because  he  plays  so  much  for 
balls.  You  know  he  said  that  was  his  recrea- 
tion." 

"Yes,  I  should  imagine  that  if  he  danced  it 
would  be  recreation,  an  all-four,  bear-fashion 
recreation." 

"  Come,  you  are  getting  positively  gross." 

"  Well,  who  wouldn't  ?  Here  in  the  face  of 
this  white,  tumbling  water,  and  these  jagged 
rocks,  yes,  and  perhaps  in  the  presence  of  the 
unhappy  Eutoka,  wooed,  as  it  were,  by  nature, 
you  can  talk  of  nothing  but  the  guide." 

"  Well,  let  us  change  the  subject  then.  Shall  I 
talk  about — about — " 

"Me.  Talk  about  me.  Can't  you  see,  Bessie, 
what  must  be  so  plainly  before  your  eyes  ?  I — I 
fancy  everyone  else  notices  it,  if  you  do  not.  Even 
the  guide  has  left  us  in  the  middle  of  his  story. 
I  can  forgive  all  his  sins  for  that  one  righteous 
act." 

He  had  not  waited  very  long  for  a  "leading 


MAIDEN  EOCK.  53 

from  Fate."  Nor  did  he  begin  it  himself  very 
gracefully.  But  he  was  an  impetuous  youth, 
abounding  in  energy.  He  could  never  wait.  He 
had  been  born  early  in  the  sixties  and  was  full 
of  that  unspent  bravery,  and  yearning  desire  for 
action,  which  the  mothers  felt  so  keenly  in  the 
long  war  days,  when  the  fathers  of  even  tiny  babes 
were  on  the  distant  field.  Merlin  liked  nothing 
better  than  leaping  from  rock  to  rock  across  some 
dangerous  mountain  stream.  He  boasted  that  he 
never  fished,  but  preferred  to  hunt.  He  loved  the 
rush  and  noise  of  the  chase  and  shot,  but  could  not 
endure  the  quiet  of  the  ducking  cork,  even  though 
a  speckled  beauty  were  a  possibility  at  the  other 
end  of  the  line.  He  declared  there  was  sure  to  be 
one  at  the  dry-end  of  it — mosquitoes  were  his  bete- 
noirs. 

Something  of  the  heroism  of  this  war  spirit  was 
in  his  wooing  just  now.  To  wait  quietly  he  could 
not,  no  matter  how  often  he  might  resolve  upon  it. 
Better,  like  Eutoka,  leap  and  have  it  done  with, 
than  climb  the  hills  and  boat  the  lakes  in  endless 
suspense. 

To  say  that  Bessie  looked  surprised  would  cer- 
tainly not  be  extravagant.  Girlish  in  her  inno- 
cence, though  well-bred  and  cultivated,  not  only 
in  the  fine  arts,  but  having  a  fairly  liberal  educa- 
tion as  well,  she  had  had  no  dreams  as  yet  of  love — 
by  day.  She  had  liked  Merlin,  since  they  had 
met  three  weeks  before  on  the  steamer  from  West 


54  MAIDEN  EOCK. 

Port  to  Plattsburg  by  the  charity  of  a  common 
friend  who  knew  they  had  chosen  the  same  route 
for  the  summer.  Bessie  was  with  her  brother,  just 
from  Harvard,  and  a  little  older  than  herself. 
Merlin  was  alone,  resting  up  from  his  first  long 
season  in  the  law,  in  which,  by  this  same  war 
spirit,  he  had  been  phenomenally  successful, 
having  tried  and  gained  his  lirst  case  in  the  Su- 
preme Court  of  Iowa  against  great  legal  odds. 
The  Iowa  State  Recorder  had  spoken  of  him  as  "  one 
of  the  most  audaciously  promising  young  men  at 
the  Iowa  bar." 

Bessie  had  liked  him  because  he  could  tell  her 
something  of  everything  they  saw ;  he  was  exceed- 
ingly entertaining,  particularly  in  repartee ;  and, 
best  of  all,  was  a  lover  and  a  student  of  good 
books. 

Their  very  first  conversation  had  plunged  into 
American  literature.  They  had  talked  of  Aldrich, 
Stedman,  and  Gilder  until  the  twilight  chill  drove 
them  from  the  upper  deck.  By  some  good  fortune 
they  had  both  been  reading  Gilder's  best  volume  of 
poems,  The  Celestial  Fire,  and^were  both  fascinated 
by  its  perfect  mechanism  and  pure-souled  themes. 
Merlin  confirmed  her  faith  in  Gilder's  integrity  by 
telling  her  of  his  acceptance  of  a  story  for  The 
Century,  and  the  payment  of  a  large  sum  for  it, 
but  its  subsequent  return  to  the  author  on  account 
of  a  semi-Mexican  abandon  on  the  part  of  the 
hero,  which  at  first  had  not  struck  the  editor  as 


MAIDEN  BOCK.  55 

being  so  objectionable  as  upon  a  second  reading.  It 
afterwards  appeared  in  another  leading  magazine. 
There  were  presumably  two  checks. 

She  startled  him  at  the  close  of  the  conversation, 
as  they  arose,  by  referring  to  The  Century  as  the 
simultaneous  prophecy  and  fulfillment  of  this 
century  of  American  literature  and  art.  He  had 
not  given  her  credit  for  so  great  discernment.  His 
respect  for  her  increased  from  that  moment.  By 
easy  stages  their  friendship  grew  until  with  her  it 
had  come  to  be  a  persistent  belief  in  his  honorable- 
ness,  a  recreative  delight  in  his  accomplishments, 
and  a  sisterly  desire  to  be  with  him  just  for  the 
rest  it  gave  her.  Her  analysis  went  no  further. 
With  him,  for  a  whole  week  now,  friendship  had 
been  love.  Half  concealed,  lest  it  should  drive 
her  from  him,  half  revealed,  because  he  was  truth- 
ful by  nature. 

She  turned  toward  him  with  startled  eyes,  her 
innocent,  not  coquettish  face,  begging  for  an  ex- 
planation, with  just  a  first  consciousness  beginning 
to  bloom  on  either  cheek.  His  pleading  eyes 
needed  no  words  to  help  him  in  their  message. 
But  they  would  come. 

"Don't  look  so  frightened,  Bessie.  You  make 
me  think  of  a  snared  bird.  Nothing  shall  hurt 
you.  There  isn't  anything  threatening  but, — 
but  my  love.  It — it  threatens  nothing  but  your 
alarm,  Bessie.  Don't  be  frightened.  I  thought  I 
felt  small  and  powerless  before  these  awful  hills, 


56  MAIDSff  SOOf. 

but  I  feel  helpless  as  a  child  before  your  sweet 
face.  You  could  strike  me  down  if  you  would, 
not  I,  you.  But  you  won't,  Bessie?  You  will  let 
me  live  ?  Your  sweet,  tender  eyes  will  lose  their 
scared  look  by  and  by,  won't  they?  Just  one 
dimpled  smile.  Have  they  all  flown  ?  Oh,  I  love 
you.  Even  nature  cannot  love  the  brooding  spirit 
of  its  Creator  more.  Bessie,  speak  to  me." 

" I  can't,"  she  gasped.  "I  can't.  I — don't  know 
what  to  say.  I  never  dreamed  you — you — " 

"  Loved  you,  loved  you,  Bessie?  What  a  good 
word  it  is,  when  you  say  it  right  out  loud.  '  I  love 
you.'  "Won't  you  try  it,  Bessie  ?  " 

"  I  can't ;  I  must  not  now.  I  don't  know  what — 
oh,  I  must  go  back." 

"Alone?" 

"No." 

"  But  you  remember  Eutoka,"  he  replied,  laugh- 
ingly, to  relieve  her  from  her  distress.  He  felt 
there  could  be  but  one  answer  finally.  At  last  he 
was  content  to  wait.  But  was  it  waiting  \  Did  he 
not  know  already  ?  He  thought  he  did.  But  she 
was  so  shy  all  the  way  as  they  walked  that  he 
scarcely  dared  take  her  hand  to  help  her  over  the 
slippery  rocks. 

Like  a  deer  frightened  at  a  gunshot,  she  was  all 
a-quiver  lest  she  should  hear  it  again.  He  talked 
of  the  trail,  for  they  soon  lost  it;  of  the  absent 
guide,  willing  now  in  his  new  mood  to  concede  to 
him  all  the  virtues.  He  did  possess  a  variety  of 


MAIDEN  BOCK.     ,  57 

them.  Observing  he  was  also  communicative; 
uncultivated,  yet  a  gentleman ;  a  wayfarer,  yet  a 
lover  of  his  mountain  home. 

Merlin  plucked  every  flower  he  could  see  as  they 
crossed  tiny  brooks  and  their  little  blossoming 
valleys,  and  gave  them  to  her  with  their  homely 
names.  He  seemed  possessed  of  a  kind  of  frenzy. 
Just  as  when  a  boy,  he  had  offended  his  little 
sister,  and  had  offered  her  every  coveted  toy  to  win 
her  back  before  she  cried,  so  now  he  had  a  similar 
but  more  intense  thought.  "See  these  tiny  little 
dots,  Bessie,  little  drops  of  gold  from,  the  stars. 
And  here,"  as  a  fancy  for  yellow  caught  him,  "  are 
the  sweetest  of  all,  the  dear  old  buttercups,  fresh 
as  the  morning  dew ;  they  never  grow  old.  Ah, 
now  I  have  a  trinity  of  yellow  for  you,  Bessie  ;  this 
bold  Johnswort  complements  the  modest  dots  and 
cups.  Won't  you  take  them  ? " 

She  took  them  mechanically,  avoiding  the  touch 
of  his  hand,  with  scarcely  a  word.  She  clutched 
them  tightly,  however,  as  she  stooped  and  turned 
to  keep  in  the  path  he  made  for  her  through  the 
bending  pines. 

"Now  I  shall  gather  a  trinity  of  white."  He 
might  easily  have  doubled  his  trinity  of  yellow, 
with  golden-rod,  yellow  daisies,  and  the  wild  hops. 
"Here,  first  of  all,  is  the  beautiful  'partridge 
berry.'  I  think  I  should  have  named  it  '  dove 
berry.'  Come,  see  it,  Bessie."  He  fell  upon  his 
knees,  seeking  the  little  white  wax  cups,  the  long 


58  MAIDEN  BOCK. 

stem  of  each  corolla  turning  into  soft  fur,  delicate 
and  fairy-like  beyond  description,  in  its  wealth  of 
round,  dark  green  leaves.  But  Bessie  stood 
straight  and  still  before  him.  He  could  only  hope 
she  was  watching  him.  He  dared  not  look  up. 
"  See,  here  is  its  red  berry  on  this  stem,"  and  he 
held  the  bright  crimson  berry,  not  larger  than  a 
ripe  currant,  towards  her.  He  felt  her  take  both 
the  flower  and  the  berry  more  gently  than  before. 
But  when  he  arose,  she  turned  away. 

"  These  white  daisies  I  picked  over  by  the 
Maiden-Rock,  now  if  I  can  find  one  more  white 
flower — here  it  is  now, — this  wild  buckwheat,  with 
its  tiny  lily-of-the-valley  bloom."  He  might  have 
added  "  deerweed,"  "  yarrow,"  and  the  "  bride's 
flower"  to  his  trio  of  white. 

"  White  and  yellow,  these  shall  be  my  colors  on 
the  field  of  glory.  White  for  brotherly  love  to 
men,  yellow  for  honor.  I  shall  wear  them  for  my 
Queen  Bess." 

Just  then  they  came  into  a  little  open  space, 
under  the  half  shadows  of  the  lighter  branches. 
She  seemed  so  alone,  so  distressed  and  far  away, 
that  he  felt  he  must  fall  upon  his  knees,  and  pray 
back  her  dim  eyes  and  dull  ears.  They  seemed  to 
see  only  beyond  the  pines,  and  to  hear  only  the 
roar  of  the  now  distant  falls.  His  soul  went  out 
to  her  with  mighty  power.  He  must  bring  her 
back  to  him. 

Who  can  tell  what  psychological  forces  were  at 


MAIDEN  HOCK.  59 

play.  For  as  he  looked  upon  her  averted  face 
she  turned  slowly  toward  him  with  a  gentle  lifting 
of  her  hand,  but  his  yearning,  intense  look  drove 
her  back  more  securely  than  ever  into  herself. 

She  started  on  ahead.  With  blinding  tears  of 
mortification  and  alarm  he  followed,  reaching  for 
her  arm  in  his  frenzy,  but  an  escaped  branch  of 
spruce  struck  him  full  in  the  face,  making  his 
eyes  smart  for  a  moment  with  intense  pain.  He 
stood  an  instant  pressing  them  with  his  hand- 
kerchief. Then  he  thought  that  if  she  could  be 
alone  for  awhile,  it  might  serve  to  recover  her 
from  the  strange  condition  his  declaration  had 
brought  upon  her. 

"Bessie,  where  are  you?"  he  said  gently,  after 
an  interval,  tremulous  with  his  violent  heart-beat- 
ings. No  reply.  "  Bessie  !  "  a  little  louder.  "  I 
wonder  if  the  poor  child  is  crying  ?  Why  couldn't 
I  have  waited?  I  must  do  something  for  her,  if  it 
is  only  to  go  after  the  guide  and  leave  her  with 
him  awhile.  Perhaps  he  can  soothe  her." 

He  peered  through  the  understructure  of  the 
woods,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  her.  Calling  quite 
loud,  getting  no  answer  but  a  faint  echo  of  his  own 
voice,  like  the  sweet,  mocking  witchery  of  some 
playful  child,  he  grew  very  uneasy.  He  hurried 
this  way  and  that,  shouting  at  every  turn.  Per- 
plexed and  undecided,  he  sat  down  helplessly  upon 
a  broken  pine. 

A  half  hour  had   probably  passed,  it  seemed 


60  MAIDEN  EOCK. 

endless  to  him,  when  the  guide  came  upon  him, 
attracted  by  his  shouts.  He  told  him  his  story. 
It  brought  out  all  the  good  in  his  straight,  lank, 
unkempt  nature.  He  seemed  to  know,  without 
being  told,  just  what  the  difficulty  was.  Some 
faint  memory  of  his  own  youth,  long  in  perspec- 
tive, may  have  been  quickened.  He  suggested  the 
trail ;  that  they  search  in  both  directions,  before 
an  alarm  be  raised. 

The  trail  was  soon  found.  For  some  reason 
unaccountable  to  himself  Merlin  chose  the  way 
back  to  Mai  den -Rock.  A  short  but  difficult  climb 
brought  him  within  sight  of  it.  There  at  its  very 
edge  sat  Bessie,  sobbing  and  swaying  as  if  in 
terror.  Merlin  was  speechless  with  fear.  He 
dared  not  say  a  word  lest  the  shock  cause  her  to 
lose  her  balance  and  slip  to  the  awful  grave  be- 
low. There  was  but  one  thing  to  do.  The  roar  of 
the  water  would  cover  his  footfalls.  He  would 
creep  stealthily  to  her,  and  seizing  her  in  his  arms, 
bear  her  back  before  she  could  resist. 

His  only  thought  was  that  some  sudden  dementia 
had  taken  her,  and  that  her  life  must  be  saved  at 
any  cost  He  was  soon  just  behind  her,  his 
breath  coming  fast  and  in  gasps — surely  she  would 
hear  his  heart  beat.  She  was  talking  to  herself  in 
little  moans.  "  I  do — I  do  love  him,  and  I've  hurt 
him  so.  I  wouldn't  even  look  at  him.  What 
shall  I  do  ?  "  In  a  moment,  she  never  knew  jusf 


MAIDEN  BOOK.  61 

how,  she  was  standing  back  on  the  rocks  with  two 
strong  arms  about  her. 

"Forgive  me,  Bessie,  won't  you?  I  forgot  you 
were  just  a  little  girl.  And  I  love  you  so  much. 
I  couldn't  wait  to  tell  you." 

He  knew  what  it  all  meant  now.  He  remembered 
by  her  own  story,  and  by  her  anxious,  tender,  half-K 
puzzled  distress  over  her  brother's  reckless  speech 
and  manner,  that  she  was  just  as  innocent  of  the 
world's  rougher  thought  as  it  is  possible  to  be  and 
live  anywhere  in  this  loose  century.  By  wise 
mother-care,  by  a  mind  kept  full  of  great  arid  good 
things,  by  not  a  prudish,  but  a  sweet,  womanly 
horror  of  "  daring,"  she  had  grown  through  these 
eighteen  years  utterly  without  guile.  No  half- 
aroused  affection  to  be  blunted  by  jest,  and  a  mock- 
ery of  love,  had  been  hers.  No  evil  realism  either 
in  life  or  fiction  had  ever  painted  black  pictures 
for  her  secret  musings.  Simply  a  whole-souled, 
capable,  healthy  young  woman  kept  inviolate  for 
one  love,  one  heart,  one  life.  The  hollow  mockery 
of  flattery  had  never  taught  her  to  dissemble. 
She  had  never  been  "coached"  by  her  mother 
upon  how  to  develop  and  receive  declarations  of 
love. 

To  her,  love  was  some  inner  manifestation  of  the 
divine  nature.  She  believed  it  always  brought 
woman  to  her  best.  A  woman's  love  should  be  a 
transparent  crystal  in  the  simplicity  of  its  passion, 
but  flushed  with  an  inner  flame,  like  some  fine 


62  31  AIDE y  HOCK. 

ruby.  To  her,  love  contained  all  the  secrets  of  the 
primal  morn  of  creation,  all  the  poetry  of  hope, 
and  all  the  permanence  of  a  vital  faith. 

Moreover,  in  it  were  all  the  issues  of  her  own 
individuality.  On  one  side  it  seemed  to  her  like 
the  cloud  and  fiery  pillar  to  the  Egyptians,  as 
it  threateningly  lay  between  the  avenging 
pursuers  and  the  sea-bound  Israelites,  dark  and 
terrible.  Then  she  shivered  and  fled.  On  the 
reverse  side  she  saw  it  as  the  Hebrews  saw,  full  of 
the  glory  of  the  Eternal. 

No  insinuating  touch  had  ever  set  her  heart 
fluttering  with  desires  she  could  not  understand. 
No  subtly-couched  words  had  ever  started  currents 
of  thought  fanning  into  flame  misguided  fancies. 
A  woman  in  letters  and  in  reason,  she  had  known 
nothing  more  than  her  babyhood  love  until  an 
hour  ago.  Even  her  regard  for  Merlin  until  the 
moment  of  his  impulsive  declaration  had  been  in 
keeping  with  her  whole  life  before. 

But  now  it  seemed  as  though  she  had  been  all 
this  while  ascending  a  steep  hillside  with  its  half- 
hidden  trail,  vine-walled  and  moss-carpeted,  until 
this  very  moment  she  had  stepped  out  upon  a 
great,  jutting  ledge,  commanding  the  curves  of  a 
bounteous  valley,  and  the  circuit  of  innumerable 
hills.  So  had  her  life  widened,  deepened,  lifted 
within  an  hour. 

It  came  when  in  his  yearning  eyes  she  saw  her- 
self. Such  strange  emotions  ;  such  fears,  and  yet 


MAIDEN  BOCK.  63 

such  longings.  Her  heart  beat  so  fast  she  could 
only  gasp.  She  was  beside  herself  for  the  moment. 
So  new,  so  strange,  so  delightful,  so  absorbing,  so 
alarming,  she  felt  like  a  new  creature  in  a  new 
world.  As  she  confessed,  standing  on  the  rock 
that  evening:  "It  seemed  that  I  could  hear  that 
poor  Indian  ghi  all  the  while  calling  me,  and  that 
I  must  come  back  to  this  rock.  Something,  I 
could  not  understand  what,  guided  me  here.  I  felt 
strong  when  I  stood  here  for  a  moment,  until  I 
thought  of  you  back  there  alone  and  hunting  for 
me ;  then  I  almost  fainted  with  the  pain  of  it,  until 
I  felt  about  me  some  thrillingly  strong  force,  like 
some  great,  free  spirit,  buoyant  as  fine  air  and 
cheering  as  wine.  I  felt  then  that  nothing  could 
harm  me.  I  went  with  perfect  calm  to  the  edge  of 
the  rock  and  sat  down.  But  .by  and  by  the  wail  of 
the  water  came  up  like  a  half-stifled  sob  from  the 
rocks,  and  then  I  seemed  to  go  all  to  pieces,  as  it 
were,  calling  for  you  and  crying.  I  think  in 
another  moment  I  should  have  fallen." 

"  But  you  did  not,  Bessie.     Are  you  glad?  " 
"  I  will  tell  you  some  time,  not  now." 
He  knew  now  how  beautiful  a  gem  he  had  found. 
Not  a  flaw  made  by  false  art.     It  had  weaknesses, 
as  all  life  must  have,  but  they  were  natural  and 
not  cultivated.     Holding  her  lightly  and  reverent- 
ly,  scarcely  daring  yet  to  kiss  her  unkissed  lips, 
he  vowed  that  no  evil  should  come  to  her  from 
him  in  word,  or  deed,  or  desire. 


64  MAID  EX  BOCK. 

To  her,  the  world  had  more  good  than  evil,  be- 
cause she  had  more.  The  movement  of  the  race 
was.  upward.  She  knew  there  were  evil  shadows, 
but  she  seldom  saw  them.  If  she  had  she  would 
have  shone  upon  them  with  her  purifying  light. 
She  believed  in  men.  Consequently  she  believed 
in  God.  Necessarily,  therefore,  she  believed  in 
herself,  and  yet  with  humility. 

But  to  our  story.  With  a  parting  look  over  the 
deep  Indian  grave's  edge,  they  turned  toward 
the  valley  once  more.  They  came  soon  upon  the 
"  hermit  guide,"  sitting  lonely  upon  a  rock  waiting, 
for  them,  but  without  comment,  or  even  good- 
natured  raillery. 

He  led  them  silently  down  and  into  the  rustic 
pavilion.  They  urged  him  to  play  and  sing. 

"Oh,  I'm  no  musician,"  he  modestly  protested. 

"  Ah,  but  we  were  here  awhile  ago,  you  must 
remember.  We  know." 

He  smiled  thankfully  for  the  compliment. 

"I  don't  know  anythin'  to  fit  the  occasion." 

"  Oh,  the  occasion  is  all  right,"  said  Merlin ; 
"  give  us  something  lively." 

"Would  you  object  to  a  love  song?"  This 
very  slyly. 

"  Not  at  all,  if  it  ends  well." 

"  I  can't  dew  much  without  my  old  fiddle.  I  de- 
clare I  must  git  the  rest  of  them  strings.  A 
fiddle  with  only  one  string  is  a  good  deal  like  a 


MAIDEN  HOCK.  65 

meule  with  a  sore  fut.  It  hain't  much  company. 
But  I'll  try.'" 

Their  happy  faces  rejuvenated  him.  Quicker 
and  quicker  flew  his  bow  on  the  one  string,  firmer 
grew  the  light  of  his  flashing,  steel  eyes.  With 
a  nervous  little  peck  at  his  eyebrows,  in  the 
middle  of  each  verse,  he  gave  himself  up  to  such 
comic  songs  as  were  most  expressive  of  his  sym- 
pathy and  well  wishes. 

The  first  was  the  "  Rose  of  Caroline."  The  first 
verse  ran  something  like  this  : 

I  am  happy  as  the  morning,  I  am  happy  as  the  eve, 
I  am  a  happy  nigger  all  day  long,  I  never  sigh  nor  grieve, 
For  I  love  a  darling  creature,  whose  form  so  light  and  fine, 
She's  a  gay  gazelle,  a  beauty,  is  my  Rose  of  Caroline. 
Features  fair  and  curly  hair,  this  charmer  sealed  my  fate. 
I  won  my  Rose  of  Caroline  while  swinging  on  the  gate. 

The  abandon  with  which  he  threw  himself  into 
the  chorus  was  highly  entertaining.  With  a  swing 
of  the  head  and  a  steady  tap  of  his  foot  he  gave  to 
his  song  what  so  few  people  give  to  anything, 
zest. 

"  I  sing  another.  Mebbe  you  wouldn't  like  to 
hear  it." 

"  If  it  is  as  good  as  Rosy  produce  it."  Merlin 
was  evidently  in  a  better  humor  toward  the 
"  hermit  guide."  Perhaps  he  felt  that  as  a  carpet 
knight  he  would  have  suffered  defeat ;  but  that 
the  accompaniment  of  "falls,"  and  ledge,  and 


66  MAIDEN  BOCK. 

rocks,  and  flower-colored  nooks,  had  been  of  no 
small  assistance  to  him.  Anyway  he  was  beam- 
ing. He  caught  himself  keeping  time  all  over  to 
this  queer  song : 

I'm  over  head  and  heels  in  love,  the  truth  I'll  tell,  with  a  turtle- 
dove, * 

She  ought  to  be  in  the  skies  above,  an  angel  she  should  be. 

Her  laughing  eyes  with  a  dimpled  chin,  her  face  so  sweet  and 
fair, 

She  looks  so  neat  and  so  complete  with  a  mass  of  silk-like  hair. 

She's  pretty  as  she  dances  on  her  pretty  little  toes, 

She  looks  as  neat  and  sweet  as  a  little  tuba  rose. 

She  charms  all  the  people  as  up  the  street  she  goes. 
She's  my  little  augar-plum. 

"  Well,  that's  my  best.  But  then  I  don't  charge 
you  anything  for  it." 

"  I  think  we  ought  at  least  to  take  up  a  collec- 
tion,'' suggested  Bessie. 

"  No,  indeed,  never.  You  may  not  have  noticed 
it  sir,"  turning  to  Merlin,  "but  I  am  a  Mason. 
Yes,  sir,  a  free  and  accepted  Mason.  I've  long 
had  my  eyes  upon  that  Maltese  cross  on  your 
chain,  sir.  In.  hue  signit  winches.  That's  Latin, 
sir;  genuine  Latin.  I  may  live  out  here  in  the 
meountins,  but  I  know  Latin  when  I  see  it.  And 
I  always  fraternize  with  the  brethren.  Great 
thing  that  third  degree.  Hiram  Abiff,  the  widder's 
son,  was  jest  my  sort.  Any  favors  I  can  show 
you,  sir,  pleased  to  serve  you.  Always  on  the 
square." 


MAIDEN  BOCK.  67 

Thus,  out  in  the  hills  and  wilds  this  odd 
man  had  learned  the  lesson  of  fraternity.  He 
needed  it. 

Soon  their  carriage  was  bouncing  along  the 
rocky  road  toward  Elizabethtown,  eight  miles 
away,  where  Merlin'  and  Bessie  were  sojourning  a 
few  days  before  advancing  to  Keene  valley,  and 
on  to  Lake  Placid  by  stage.  The  little  brook 
running  at  their  side,  the  twinkling  stars  ju-st 
showing  like  bits  of  silver  gray,  the  call  of  the 
valley  farmer  to  his  lazy  herd  on  the  slopes,  and 
the  memory-waking  whip-poor-will  far  up  on  the 
ledges  guarding  his  nest,  all  blended  into  a  repose 
that  came  upon  their  happy  lives  like  the  soft 
look  of  a  mother  down  upon  the  half-face  of  her 
babe,  as  she  sings  it  to  its  sleep  at  her  breast. 

"But  what  will  you  do  with  your  innocent  little 
girl  and  her  intense  lover  ?  Is  not  she  too  delicate 
for  his  world  and  his  life  ?"  We  shall  see. 

Jack  Tremain  was  as  good  natured  a  fellow 
as  ever  lived.  He  was  .a  friend  to  everybody. 
Vagabonds,  truly  helpless  unfortunates,  and  ad- 
venturers alike,  had  found  him  an  easy  prey. 
By  reason  of  his  social  influence  and  wealth  he 
had  been  a  club-man  of  high  degree  at  the  Uni- 
versity. A  more  selfish  man  might  have  come 
through,  not  much  the  worse  for  the  wear,  as  the 
world  estimates  it ;  but  Jack  had  been  too  easy 
in  his  friendships,  and  too  generous  in  hisjudg- 


68  MAIDEN  HOCK. 

ments  of  men  and  women.  I  will  not  give  the 
details  of  an  unfortunate  affair  in  which  he  be- 
came involved,  and  for  which  he  had  been  "rustic- 
ated "  in  his  junior  year.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
among  the  little  group  of  men  and  women  of 
the  town,  into  whose  company  Jack's  club  life 
had  led  him,  was  a  woman  several  years  his 
senior,  but  superbly  handsome,  and  ruinously 
fascinating,  when  she  set  her  head  to  win  a  coveted 
point.  For  more  than  a  year  Jack  Tremain  had 
been  the  point.  She  did  not  love  him,  she  could 
not.  It  was  not  in  her  nature.  Bat  he  was  a 
great  catch,  was  rich,  and — well,  she  liked  to  know 
that  men  were  talking  about  her  and  her  daring 
breaks. 

She  soon  found  that  Jack's  ideals  of  womanhood 
were  high  in  theory,  however  low  some  of  them 
might  be  in  practice.  As  much  as  was  in  her 
power  she  assumed  a  sort  of  dignified  superiority 
to  her  surroundings  when  with  him.  She  admitted  to 
him  the  evil  about  her,  but  pretended  to  be  care- 
lessly indifferent  to  it.  Her  idea  of  morality  could 
go  no  higher  than  that.  So  long  as  she  was  even 
negatively  good  she  did  not  repel  him. 

He  fell  into  some  misunderstanding  about  this 
time  with  a  club  man  which  threatened  to  become 
very  annoying  to  him.  Matrice  Bonner,  by  her 
strategic  shrewdness,  was  able  to  settle  the  diffi- 
culty amicably — much  against  her  personal  pleas- 
ure, for  "  a  quarrel  in  real  life,"  as  she  called  it, 


MAIDEN  SOCK.  69 

was  a  great  delight  to  her.  But  she  knew  whence 
her  gain  in  the  matter  would  issue. 

Jack  overwhelmed  her  with  gratitude.  He  for- 
got everything  else  about  her  except  that  she  had 
greatly  befriended  him.  He  was  her  sworn  friend 
from  that  day. 

Little  by  little  she  undermined  his  manhood,  his 
ideals,  and  his  fate.  Wine  parties  had  no  little  to 
do  with  the  final  results.  Never  vicious,  he  had 
become  at  last  simply  weak,  vacillating,  yielding, 
moody,  revengeful  and  gay  by  turns,  as  the  occa- 
sion changed.  At  twenty-three  he  was  simply  a 
wreck  on  the  shore  of  "  high-life."  Why  "  high" 
I  do  not  know,  unless  it  is  because  the  fall  is 
usually  so  marked  and  so  fatal. 

A  month  at  home  with  his  mother  and  sister 
had  been  his  first  strength  for  more  than  a  year. 
He  had  gained  one  point ;  he  was  thoroughly  con- 
vinced that  he  had  been  "  worked."  Nothing  galls 
a  man  so  much  as  the  discovery  of  that  fact — 
particularly  if  everyone  else  has  discovered  it 
too,  and  earlier.  He  had  partially  gained  an- 
other point:  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  great 
wrongs,  both  to  his  family  and  to  himself.  He 
knew  the  things  done  were  evil;  he  was  not  quite 
sure  that  he  had  been  wholly  to  blame. 

This  summer's  outing  had  been  planned  for  him 
and  by  him  in  part.  He  knew  what  it  meant. 
His  old-time  love  for  his  sister  Bessie,  returning 
now,  had  refreshed  his  ideals  of  womanhood.  He 


70  MAIDEN  HOCK. 

had  "  looked  on  this  picture  and  then  on  this," 
until  he  knew  the  difference  between  love  and 
appetite. 

He  had  assumed,  perhaps  from  his  knowledge 
of  the  world,  a  sort  of  watch-dog  protection  over 
her.  He  was  her  constant  companion.  It  was 
thought  that  if  he  felt  thus  that  her  safety  and 
pleasure  depended  solely  upon  him,  as  it  would 
upon  a  journey  like  this,  it  would  nerve  him  to 
resistance  and  duty,  more  than  would  an  idle 
life  at  home.  He  had  not  drank  since  he  re- 
turned. He  had  taken  up  his  guitar  again,  and 
the  old  life  seemed  slowly  creeping  back. 

Thus  far  on  the  route  there  had  been  nothing 
but  pleasure.  They  had  met  a  number  of  old 
friends,  and  had  formed  some  new  acquaintances, 
among  whom  was  Merlin  Hall.  He  and  Jack 
found  good  fellowship  at  once.  In  fact,  Jack  gave 
Bessie  over  to  him  almost  from  the  first.  This 
may  have  been  the  cause  of  his  fall. 

Merlin  and  Bessie  reached  the  Windsor  House 
in  time  for  a  late  supper,  though  they  were  both 
too  much  excited  for  hunger. 

"  I  must  see  Jack  right  away.  I  suppose  in  the 
absence  of  other  authorities  I  must  look  to  him  for 
confirmation  of  my  rash  act,"  said  Merlin. 

"  I'm  so  glad  for  Jack's  sake." 

"  And  not  for  your  own,  Bessie  ?  " 

"  You  know  whatl  mean." 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  and  we  will  lift  the  poor  boy  out. 


MAIDEN  ROCK.  71 

I  had  a  long  talk  with  him  only  yesterday.  He 
told  me  his  only  fear  now  was  of  that  woman.  He 
said  he  trembled  at  every  corner  lest  he  should 
meet  her.  He  made  me  promise  that  I  would 
take  him  away  and  hide  him  if  she  should  find  us. 
He  thinks  she  is  hunting  him  up." 

"  God  pity  him  if  she  is !  What  a  life  !  What 
becomes  of  a  woman's  soul  do  you  think  when  she 
falls  to  such  a  level !  " 

"  She  damns  it." 

"  Beyond  hope,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  If  deeds  are  to  be  the  judgment  test." 

"But  may  there  not  be  mercy?  Is  not  one's 
heredity  and  early  training  taken  into  the  evi- 
dence ?  Surely  it  must." 

"Probably,  when  one's  fall  is  through  the  mach- 
inations of  others,  and  because  of  some  inherited 
weakness.  But  for  premeditated,  calculating 
debauchery  of  body  and  soul,  deeds  must  decide. 
Such  a  man  fixes  his  life  in  evil,  and  loves  it.  He 
ought  to  possess  it  forever." 

"  But  do  they  never  have  any  remorse  ?  Do 
they  feel  no  longings  for  release?  Suppose  you 
should  read  '  Beyond  the  Gates,'  to  such  a  woman 
as  Matrice  Bonner,  would  it  have  no  effect  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  would  laugh  at  you,  and  call  you  an 
'innocent  little  -chit,'  but  missing  life's  real  mean- 
ing." 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  dare  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  would." 


72  MAIDEN  HOCK. 

"  If  you  could  tell  her  the  story  of  Romola  — " 
"  The  probabilities  are  that  if  the  Savior  Him- 
self were  here,  and  were  to  give  her  choice  between 
your  life  and  seven  devils,  she   would   take   the 
devils." 

"I  don't  believe  any  soul  on  earth  is  so  de- 
praved." 

"  I  am  glad  you  don't.  That's  one  reason  I  love 
you." 

"  Because  you  think  I  am  so  ignorant  ?  " 
"  No,  but  because  you  are  so  pure  yourself.     By 
the  way,  do  you  remember  that  sweet  couplet  of 
Emerson's  Threnody : 

'  Hearts  are  dust,  hearts'  loves  remain, 
Heart's  love  will  meet  thee  again.' 

It  has  been  in  my  ears  with  the  roar  of  the  falls 
ever  since  I  found  you  sobbing  on  the  rocks. 
Oh,  Bessie,  just  to  think — " 

"Let's  don't  think — about  that.  Go  on  with 
Emerson." 

"  Do  you  know,  I  believe  in  Emerson  as  a  poet ; 
he  did  not  concern  himself  much  about  rhythm, 
but  his  creative  imagination  is  matchless.  There 
has  been  but  one  other  in  all  our  literature,  and 
she  did  so  little  verse,  that  one  scarcely  ever 
thinks  of  her  as  a  poet.  Dear  Helen  Hunt.  I 
have  always  liked  that  better  than  her  wedded 
name.  I  have  a  strong  autograph-letter  showing 
her  at  her  b,est,  which  I  will  send  you  after  I 


MAIDEN  HOCK.  73 

return  home,  also  a  pair  of  scraps  from  Emer- 
son's pen.  To  me  they  are  priceless." 

"  Speaking  of  Emerson  calls  to  my  mind  a  new 
volume  of  Carlyle  which  I  read  recently.  It  is 
an  assortment  of  notes  made  by  some  one  on  a 
series  of  lectures  on  literature  delivered  several 
years  before  his  death.  I  found  it  very  unsatis- 
factory. One  might  as  well  try  to  take  the 
Niagara  by  dictation,  as  to  transmit  Carlyle  by 
notes." 

"  The  new  Isaiah.  He  was  to  England  what 
Tolstoi  is  to  Russia.  A  different  type  of  man,  as 
one  would  naturally  expect.  Russian  institutions 
and  philosophy  could  never  make  a  Carlyle." 

"Nor  English  a  Tolstoi." 

"  Oh,  he  might  do  after  Wannamaker  had 
trimmed  him  up  a  little." 

"  He  wears  glasses.     I  am  told  they  are  blue." 

"  Wannamaker,  you  mean  ?  " 

«  Certainly." 

"  The  Russian  sees  things  as  they  are  in  Russia. 
He  knows  but  little  of  the  domestic  life  in  a 
civilized  land  like  ours.  His  censors  should  read 
his  'Work  While  it  is  Yet  Day,'  if  they  still 
doubt  his  ideals  of  home  life." 

"  Are  all  the  masters  aged  or  dead,  in  America  ?" 

"A  hundred  disciples  have  arisen  for  every  mas- 
ter. That  is  better ;  it  is  more  democratic.  Then 
too,  just  now,  the  theme  of  a  book  has  become  more 
significant  than  the  author's  name.  Take  it  in 


74  MAID  EX  BOCK. 

sociology  for  instance,  and  we  care  more  that  we 
have  Social  Phases  of  Christianity,  Murvale  East- 
man, Jason  Edwards,  A  Hazard  of  New  Fortunes, 
and  How  the  Other  Half  Lives,  than  that  we  have 
an  Ely,  Tourgee,  Garland,  Howells  or  Kiis.  The 
book  is  vital  now.  Does  it  help  on  the  evolu- 
tion of  things  ?  If  not,  it  has  no  raison  d'etre. 
But  Jack  must  be  in  by  this  time.  He  usually 
comes  to  the  parlor.  He  may  have  gone  up  to  his 
room.  I  will  slip  up  and  see.  If  I  am  not  back 
in  ten  minutes  don't  wait.  G-ood  night,  my  love." 
A  soft  little  pressure  of  her  clinging  hand  was  all. 

Five  minutes  had  not  passed,  when  he  returned 
with  a  peculiar  but  resolute  look  on  his  face.  Slip- 
ping quite  to  her  side  and  stooping,  he  said  softly, 
but  calmly :  "  Come  up  to  Jack's  room,  Bessie. 
He  needs  us  both." 

She  knew  as  well  as  though  he  had  told  her  all. 
Jack  had  slipped.  But  perhaps  they  could  catch 
him  before  he  lost  every  hold. 

"  Is  she  here  ? "  she  whispered  as  she  clung  to 
his  arm  on  the  stairs. 

"  She  has  been  here,  but  I  hope  she  is  gone." 

"I  want  to  see  her  now,  that  she  is  here." 

"  You  see  her,  Bessie  ? " 

"Yes,  I  must." 

"Well,  you  know  best." 

Poor  Jack  lay  upon  the  couch  moaning.  He 
had  not  drank  enough  to  bring  on  stupor,  but  just 


MAIDEN  BOCK.  75 

enough,  now  that  the  first  gay  mood  was  gone,  to 
leave  him  wretched  and  undone. 

"Oh,  Bessie,  why  didn't  you  stay  here?  I 
thought  I  was  all  right.  I  ran  up  here  the 
moment  I  saw  her,  but  she  followed  me.  I  was 
weak  enough  to  let  her  in.  It  was  all  over  then. 
Keep  her  out.  There  has  something  gone  wrong. 
She  looks  terrible.  I  should  never  have  known' 
her  but  for  her  eyes.  She  is  desperate  about  some- 
thing." 

"Keep  quiet,  Jack,"  said  Bessie,  soothingly, 
taking  his  fine  head  upon  her  knees  and  kissing 
him.  "I  won't  leave  you  any  more,  and  Jack, 
Merlin  has  come  to  stay,  too.  He  wants  you  to 
congratulate  him,  though  I  don't  see  why  he 
should  expect  any  one  to  do  that."  So  perfect 
was  her  love  that  it  seemed  not  at  all  immodest  to 
talk  of  it. 

Jack  looked  up  with  a  feeble  smile. 

"  This  time  yesterday  how  pleased  I  would  have 
been  to  hear  it.  But  to-day — my  God,  how  did  I 
let  it  happen !" 

"  Keep  up,  old  fellow,"  said  Merlin,  sitting  on 
the  edge  of  the  couch.  "  No  one  knows  it  but 
Bessie  and  me.  "We'll  prop  you.  You'll  be  able 
to  go  alone  by-and-by." 

"  She  knows  it,  and  that's  the  devil  o*f  it — excuse 
me,  but  that's  just  the  situation !" 

"  I'm  going  to  see  her  myself,  Jack." 


76  MAIDEN  BOCK. 

"  Good  God  !  you,  Bessie  ?  Never.  I'll  murder 
her  if  she  speaks  to  you." 

He  was  thoroughly  excited  now.  It  was  good 
for  him.  This  revulsion  of  feeling  would  not  pass 
away  without  some  permanent  results. 

"  You  must  let  me  have  my  way  in  this,  Jack." 

"  What  does  she  mean,  Merlin  ?" 

"I  give  it  up,  Jack,  and  you  had  better.  She 
will  have  her  way  in  spite  of  us,"  with  a  reassur- 
ing twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"  She  said  she  would  be  back  at  nine.  I  don't 
know  why  she  went  away.  There's  something 
up." 

"  It  is  nine  now,"  said  Bessie.  "  You  take  Jack 
to  your  room  ;  I  will  remain  here  until  she  comes." 

"  Bessie  you  must  not  do  it.  Think  what  she 
is." 

"  I  have  thought  of  all.     I  shall  stay." 

A  knock.  An  open  door.  Two  women  face  to 
face.  One  much  surprised,  the  other  very  calm. 

"  Come  in  ;  my  brother  Jack  will  be  back  soon. 
He  was  not  feeling  well,  and  is  resting  with  a 
friend." 

Matrice  Bonner  had  never  yielded  before.  She 
did  now.  She  sat  upon  the  couch  where  she  had 
left  Jack  an  hour  before. 

"  Are  you  his  sister  ?"  she  ventured. 

"  Yes,  Jack's  my  only  brother.  My  first  recol- 
lection is  of  his  holding  me  while  we  sat  in  the 


MAIDEN  BOCK.  77 

old  swing.  There  was  a  little  place  between  his 
soft  neck  and  his  firm  shoulder,  where  my  liead 
could  just  lie,  while  he  held  it  from  bobbing  with 
his  warm  chin." 

Impulsive  natures  act  rapidly.  Something  in 
that  baby  picture  touched  the  proud  woman.  Or, 
there  may  have  been  weeks  of  preparation  for  this 
one  final  influence.  She  threw  up  her  hands  with 
a  look  of  intense  pain,  and  as  they  fell,  clasping 
them  tight,  let  her  head  sink  lower  and  lower, 
until  Bessie  imagined  she  had  swooned.  Going 
to  her  very  quietly,  she  placed  both  her  hands  on 
her  temples  to  lift  her  head.  As  though  stung  by 
the  touch,  she  lifted  her  face  and  leaned  back  with 
flashing  eyes.  Then  with  a  pitiful,  hunted  look  in 
them,  cried  : 

"  Do  you  touch  me  ?  And  do  you  know  who  I 
am?" 

"  You  are  a  woman.  You  are  in  distress.  I 
have  forgotten  the  rest." 

"  Oh,  why  should  help  always  corne  too  late  ?" 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  ever  too  late." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Tell  me  all  your  trouble.  It  is  nothing  light,  I 
am  sure." 

"  Light,  if  the  rocks  and  mountains  of  the  judg- 
ment day  shall  be  light." 

"  Tell  me  of  the  past  and  present.  When  we  get 
them  straight,  the  future  is  already  straight." 

She  hesitated,  looked  with  mesmeric,  searching 


78  MAIDEN  ROCK. 

eyes  into  Bessie's  trustful  face,  as  though  deter- 
mined to  find  what  subtle  motive  lay  back  of  her 
winning  ways.  The  look  satisfied  her.  She  told 
all. 

She  had  secretly  married  one  of  the  club  men 
soon  after  Jack  was  sent  home,  with  the  agree- 
ment that  at  the  end  of  a  year,  when  he  should 
become  of  age,  and  heir  to  great  estates,  he  was 
to  acknowledge  her  as  his  wife.  The  year  had 
passed.  He  had  deserted  her.  Something  was 
wrong  with  the  marriage  certificate.  It  would  cost 
hundreds  of  dollars  to  attempt  to  establish  her 
claim.  Her  babe  was  two  months  old.  She  was 
penniless,  and  "  out  of  the  swim."  Grown  desper- 
ate over  the  hunger  of  her  babe,  half  frenzied  her- 
self, friendless,  too  proud  to  beg,  and  with  no  room 
to  work  with  her  infant,  as  a  last  resort  she  had 
come  after  Jack,  having  seen  by  accident  the 
notice  of  his  proposed  visit  to  the  mountains,  and 
the  route.  She  had  pawned  her  last  piece  of  jew- 
elry, a  bracelet  Jack  had  given  her,  that  she  might 
make  the  journey.  Her  purpose  had  simply  been 
to  appeal  to  him  for  help,  until  she  could  get 
strong  enough  to  fight  her  way  bitterly  through. 
But  as  she  talked  to  him,  the  old  spirit  came  back, 
a  yearning  to  forget  the  awful  present.  She  had 
but  to  suggest  it  in  a  moment's  weakness,  and  the 
wine  was  ordered.  As  she  drank,  instead  of  gaiety, 
remorse  came.  Jack  soon  became  tender,  as  was 
his  wont  when  under  the  influence  of  liquor.  She 


MAIDEN  HOCK.  79 

could  not  bear  his  embraces,  and  abruptly  left 
him,  promising  to  return  when  he  had  sobered  up 
a  little,  and  then  make  known  her  real  mission. 

"  I  have  told  you  all.  I  never  dreamed  I  should 
have  told  it  just  as  it  was  to  Jack,  much  less  to  a 
woman,  and  that  woman  his  sister.  I  have  been  a 
proud,  stubborn  woman.  I  am  broken  now.  Here 
on  my  knees  I  beg  mercy  for  my  baby's  sake.  I 
have  held  his  poor  little  head  under  my  chin,  just 
as  Jack  used  to  hold  yours,  his  little  hot  hands 
twitching  in  mine.  My  heart  is  breaking  now  as 
I  think  of  him  left  alone  with  the  coarse  and 
filthy  nurse  who  is  keeping  him  for  me.  She  may 
be  drunk  this  very  minute,  and  my  boy  dead  ;  my 
poor  white-faced  little  lamb !  God  pity  him,  and 
pity  me.  You  must  know  I  had  a  woman's  respect 
after  all  for  your  brother,  that  I  should  venture  to 
him  with  this  awful  message.  Think  of  a  proud 
woman  hunting  her  old  lover  to  beg  a  crust  for 
herself  and  babe,  the  ruins  of  another  man's  pas- 
sion. Your  eyes  are  soft  as  an  angel's.  Surely 
they  will  pity  me.  What  can  I  do  ?  where  shall  I 
go  ?  Anything  and  anywhere,  in  the  wide  world, 
only  so  that  I  can  keep  my  baby  and  give  him 
bYead.  Tell  me.  Don't  forsake  me.  I  will  do 
anything  you  say." 

What  a  life  was  this  drifting  wreck !  A  disman- 
tled hulk  floating  so  near  a  white-sailed  vessel. 
Would  it  plunge  the  trim  little  ship  down  with  its 


80  M AID  EN  11 0  CK. 

woeful  weight,  or  would  there  be  sail  enough  to 
put  both  into  harbor? 

Had  Bessie  been  anything  less  than  a  pure- 
souled,  earnest  woman,  she  would  have  been 
tempted  to  scorn  this  appeal,  or  turn  away  in  dis- 
may. Being  both,  she  said  nothing  about  "  de- 
pravity," "the  wages  of  sin,"  -"the  way  of  the 
transgressor,"  "  the  Magdalene's  Home  "  or  "  the 
Orphans'  Asylum." 

Must  I  write  it?  Will  the  reader  finish  my 
story  ?  He  shall  read  this  next  sentence,  and  it 
shall  not  fade  from  his  memory  forever. 

"  Poor,  broken-winged  bird,  your  flying  was  too 
bold,  the  rocks  were  hard.  You  are  a  woman,  and 
the  mother  of  a  hungry  babe.  I  love  you,  and  I 
will  not  leave  nor  forsake  you." 

Farewell,  Priest ;  farewell,  Levite.  The  Good 
Samaritans  will  keep  me  close  company  to  the 
end. 


When  Jack  and  Merlin  had  heard  the  story,  as 
Bessie  alone  could  tell  it,  they  sat  so  still  they 
heard  the  little  silver  clock  on  the  table  tick  a 
hundred  times  or  more. 

Merlin  never  felt  so  sharply  before  the  reality 
of  Time.  It  was  a  trying  moment  to  Bessie  as  to 
each  of  the  others.  She  had  repeated  to  them  her 
resolution  and  promise.  What  would  Merlin  say  ? 
Would  it  end  their  just-begun  relationship  ?  It 


MAIDEN  BOCK.  81 

would  test  him,  that  much  she  knew.  If  he  did 
not  bear  it,  then  she  had  mistaken  him.  To  know- 
it  now  were  far  better  than  to  discover  it  little  by 
little,  and  too  late. 

She  waited.  Her  heart  got  the  same  measure 
the  clock  had.  Would  they  never  speak  ?  It  came 
at  last,  like  a  far-away  voice  out  of  the  shadows 
of  the  imlighted  room,  half  choking,  as  though 
shamedly  struggling  to  show  no  womanly  weak- 
ness : '"Bessie, — you — are — the  noblest — woman — 
this  side — of  heaven."  It  was  Merlin's  voice. 
"Amen  !  "  added  Jack.  It  was  the  most  religious 
thing  he  had  done  since  he  left  home  three  years 
before. 

Bessie  felt  she  must  cry.  The  strain  had  been- 
too  hard.  Had  the  answer  been  different,  she 
would  not  have  shed  a  tear.  How  joyous  it  was  to 
feel  them  gushing  through  her  fingers  as  she 
pressed  her  face.  But  when  her  lover,  never  so 
dear  to  her  as  now,  took  them  away  in  his  own 
strong  hands,  and  kissed  both  her  cheeks,  tears 
and  all,  and  holding  her  to  him  sealed  for  the  first 
time  his  vows  of  the  day,  it  was  heaven  let  down 
beneath  stars. 

But  that  poor,  waiting,  troubled  heart  without ! 
She  must  go  to  her.  Kissing  Jack,  she  whispered 
to  him  the  "  open  sesame  "  of  his  permanent  re- 
covery :  "  Devote  the  coming  year  to  this  poor 
woman  and  her  baby,  Jack.  See  that  she  gets  up 
again.  Give  her  courage,  and  keep  yourself  un- 


82  MAIDEN  BOCK. 

spotted  from  the  world."     The  heroic  in  his  soul 
came  out  in  bold  relief,  in  quick  response. 


Matrice  makes  her  own  living  and  her  boy 
Jack's.  She  sings  at  her  work.  No  great  ambi- 
tion stirs  her.  To  have  a  home  and  watch  her 
baby  boy,  and  keep  his  face  bright  and  his  heart 
clean,  is  her  highest  ambition.  To-day  has  been 
a  particularly  happy  one  for  the  mother  and  the 
boy.  His  "Aunt  Bessie,"  and  both  his  uncles, 
Jack  and  Merlin,  and  little  cousin,  baby  Matrice, 
have  been  with  them  all  day.  The  delicate  repast, 
all  the  work  of  Matrice's  hands,  at  the  close  of  the 
afternoon,  was  but  one  more  proof  of  the  calmness 
and  the  cleanness  of  her  life  without  and  within. 

No  evil  has  come  into  Bessie's  simple  life.  More 
than  one  demon  of  lust  and  hate  has  fled  at  her 
approach. 

So  does  the  Miracle  Worker  of  Galilee  "  do 
greater  works  than  these,"  through  his  own. 

"  Ye  are  my  friends."  Oh,  sweet  Galilean !  to 
be  Thy  friend  is  to  be  friendly  to  the  whole  World. 


A  WOMAN? 


CHAP  TEE  I. 

ACEOSS  Mirror  Lake  the  angle  of  the  "  Bald- 
win "  lights  squared  the  irregular  water  line.  To 
the  left  a  tower  of  light  rose  above  the  "  Ste- 
phen's." Directly  to  the  right  round  Cobble  rose 
into  the  night,  as  the  head  of  a  wondering  child  at 
play  rises  above  the  grass,  to  "  spy  the  coast." 
Back  behind  all,  one  cheek  alone  partly  visible  in 
the  moon-smitten  night,  lay  White  Face,  most 
striking  and  popular  of  the  Adirondacks.  In  the 
nearer  distance,  but  hidden,  Lake  Placid  slept 
beside  the  wind-singing  pines,  while  one  kept 
thinking  of  the  white,  dead  spruces  just  in  its 
water's  edge,  standing  like  ghostly  sentinels. 

"  I  know  I  am  wrong,  and  that  it  is  more  like  a 
bear  than  a  man  to  say  it,  but  I  wish  you  wouldn't, 
Elaine." 

"Don't  you  like  music  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And— and— me  ?" 

"How  can  you  ask  ?" 

"  Well,  don't  we  blend,  music  and  I,  and  your — 
love  2" 

(83) 


84  A  WOMAN. 

"Certainly,  my  dear  ;  but  don't  you  see  the  dif- 
ference ?  Music  and  yourself  in  my  own  home — I 
can  pray  for  nothing  more  ;  but  your  music  and 
you  in  a  public  drawing-room,  or — or — ,  upon  the 
concert  stage,  is  what  distresses  me,  and  a  crowd 
of  men  staring  at  you,  and  not  speechless  either, 
I  can  assure  you." 

"  Why,  Maxwell  Harley  !  would  you  have  them 
blind  and  dumb  ?" 

It  was  in  a  shadowy  corner  of  the  broad  veranda 
of  the  Mirror  Lake  Hotel,  just  up  the  spreading 
slope  from  Mirror  Lake.  The  speakers  had  evi- 
dently been  upon  good  terms,  to  say  the  least. 
Elaine  Humeston  was  a  rising  young  cornetist  of 
Boston.  Max  Harley  was  her  admirer,  and  it 
would  seem  from  what  we  have  just  heard,  an  ac- 
cepted lover.  Of  his  love  for  her  there  could  be 
no  doubt.  As  between  her  love  and  her  music 
there  were  occasionally  vexing  doubts,  particularly 
when,  as  now,  he  sought  to  divide  her  life.  She 
had  accepted  an  invitation  from  the  proprietor  of 
the  hotel,  an  old  friend,  for  the  season  of — well,  a 
nameless  season.  She  had  done  so  because  she 
needed  the  hills  and  the  pure  air.  Her  half  inva- 
lid mother  needed  them  more.  They  were  not 
rich.  Her  career  had  just  begun.  As  usual,  the 
expenses  of  the  few  brief  tours  she  had  made  with 
two  of  her  Boston  musical  friends,  under  the  man- 
agement of  the  brother  of  one  of  them,  had  kept 
pretty  even  pace  with  the  revenue.  She  seized 


85 

as  a  gift  from  heaven  this  opportunity  for  rest  and 
pleasure  with  her  pale,  but  sweet-faced  mother. 
That  she  herself  must  often  play  for  the  hotel 
guests,  sometimes  even  for  their  dancing,  had  not 
troubled  her  in  the  least,  except,  when  talking  it 
over  with  Harley  one  evening,  instead  of  the  con- 
gratulations she  expected,  there  came  a  puzzling 
frown,  and  a  commonplace  remark  which  could 
have  no  bearing  whatever  upon  the,  to  her,  all- 
absorbing  matter.  A  summer  in  the  Adirondacks 
and  at  Lake  Placid,  and  Max  not  enthusiastic! 

Of  course  she  had  expected  a  lover's  protest 
against  so  long  an  absence,  some  half-pouting  en- 
dearment ;  but  his  chilling  silence  was  more  than 
a  prohibition.  Then  she  remembered  his  old  heart 
ailment :  "  She  was  his,  and  not  the  property  of 
the  public."  She  did  not  congeal  easily.  Indeed 
she  could  be  very  warming  when  the  air  grew  too 
chill  for  her  comfort.  Max  left  in  a  better  humor. 
In  that  sort  of  a  humor  a  man  works  himself  into — 
works  is  the  word  I  want  to  use — when  he  knows 
the  woman  he  loves  has  come  to  a  decision ;  and 
if  he  would  not  be  omitted  entirely  from  its  issues, 
he  must,  with  more  or  less  grace,  yield. 

Man  is  a  queer  animal.  Even  if  he  is  to  suffer 
defeat,  he  likes  to  be  on  the  field  when  the  fight 
is  on.  Just  two  weeks  after  Elaine  had  settled 
herself  and  the  dear  little  mother  in  a  cosy  corner 
of  their  summer  home,  with  a  soothing  view  of  the 
quiet  lake  and  quieter  hills,  imagine  her  surprise, 


86  A  W03TAX. 

half  glad,  half  painful,  to  find  herself  face  to  face 
with  Max  Harley  as  she  walked  one  evening  to 
the  grand  Chickering  in  the  great  parlor,  her  fin- 
gers closely  clasped  about  her  silver  pet. 

"Maxwell   Harley!" 

She  always  added  the  "  well"  when  surprised, 
or  attempting  unusual  dignity. 

"  O  yes,  it's  I.  Thought  I  would  run  up  for  a 
couple  of  days.  Town  is  confounded  still. 
Nothing  in  motion  but  the  river,  and  an  occasional 
train.  Took  one,  and  here  I  am.  Fine  place." 

"  Have  you  just  come  ?" 

"Yes.     Came  by  stage  from  Saranac." 

"  Beautiful  drive,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Didn't  see  it." 

"Didn't  see  it?" 

"  No — I — I  was  in  somewhat  of  a  hurry." 

"Oh  !  Well,  come  into  the  parlor,  Max,  I  must 
play  for  an  hour,  and  then  we — I  will  be  free. 
There  is  a  mammoth  whist  party  on  for  the  even- 
ing, and  they  won't  need  much  music  to-night." 

She  turned  without  giving  him  time  to  protest. 
She  was  a  woman,  a  budding  professional  woman, 
and  had  learned  already  to  keep  her  business  en- 
gagements, a  rare  quality  which  I  have  noticed  in 
every  professional  woman  of  my  acquaintance.  It 
is  a  sort  of  unreasoning  fidelity  to  her  word.  Per- 
haps I  am  wrong  in  the  adjective — a  conscience 
fidelity,  I  should  call  it. 

For  an  hour  Max  sat  in  a  distant  corner.     The 


A  WOMAN.  87 

only  sympathy  be  showed  with  the  beautiful  cor- 
netist  was  unconscious ;  he  kept  his  huge  chair 
rocking  in  perfect  time  with  her  music.  He  sat 
apart,  as  though  ashamed  of  her.  She  was  con- 
scious of  it  all.  She  never  played  with  such  zest. 
The  guests  gathering  about  the  card  tables,  and 
receiving  their  delicately-ribboned  ivory  souve- 
nirs, paused  to  listen.  Already  the  favorite  of 
every  one,  she  seemed  to  hold  them  with  a  firmer 
grasp  j  ust  now. 

She  was  worthy  of  their  wondering  admiration 
in  every  way.  Not  alone  in  her  music  was  she 
graceful  and  expressive.  Tall,  with  the  grace  and 
symmetry  of  the  hemlock,  pliant,  thrilling  with 
health,  she  walked  like  a  queen  along  the  pol- 
ished floors  of  the  great  drawing-rooms.  Not  as 
a  dominant  queen,  but  queenly  by  her  unconscious 
power.  Her  sweet-faced  modesty  was  made  strong 
with  a  soldierly  bearing  her  father  gave  her  before 
he  fell  at  Chickamauga  in  '63.  Every  child  in 
the  company  loved  her ;  not  as  children  love  for 
bon  bons,  but  as  they  cling  for  a  kiss. 

Never  was  she  so  full  of  power  and  grace  as 
to-night.  She  was  playing  the  familiar  "prison 
song  "  from  II  Trovatore,  so  old,  and  yet  always 
calling  the  heart  from  every  other  emotion.  It 
was  the  background  to-night  for  her  joy;  a  foil 
to  her  happiness.  To  be  sure,  Max  was  not  en- 
rapport.  But  love  conquers  so  easily. 

Standing,  her  white  satin  slipper  firmly  set  upon 


88  A  WOMAN. 

the  soft  velvet  rug,  she  swayed  with  the  rhythm  of 
her  music  until  the  electric  lights  hung  like  great 
glistening  mists  before  the  tearful  eyes  of  her  thrill- 
ed audience.  Even  Max  felt  himself  giving  way 
under  the  spell.  But  the  burst  of  applause  as 
she  sat  down  brought  back  the  old  jealousy.  He 
rose  in  rather  an  ungallant  manner  to  meet  her, 
as  she  drew  near  him,  he  and  she  now  the  center 
of  all  attention. 

"  Shall  we  go  out  now,  and  see  if  we  can  find  a 
star  ?"  she  asked  tremulously,  for  the  passion  of 
her  music  had  not  subsided.  She  so  hoped  it 
might  blend  into  the  other  and  become  a  part  of 
it  to-night — if  only  he  wouldn't  look  so  glum. 

"  These  people  seem  to  think  they  have  found 
one  here,"  he  replied.  He  was  trying  to  be  com- 
plimentary ;  the  words  were ;  the  tone,  anything 
else. 

She  took  his  arm  and  they  escaped  out  to  the 
sweeping  piazza,  through  a  group  of  admirers 
waiting  to  repeat  their  kind  words  of  other  even- 
ings. There  the  reproachful  words  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  story  were  spoken. 

"  If  a  woman  has  a  gift,  and  you  insist  that  I 
have,  why  should  she  put  it  in  a  napkin  ?  or,  to  be 
more  realistic,  in  a  dish-rag  ?  or  why  should  ap- 
preciation of  it  by  others  be  any  more  a  disgrace 
than  when  a  man  has  the  power  to  please  or 
help?" 

"  Simply  because  a  woman  is  something  more 


A  WOMAN.  89 

than  any  gift.  Something  else,  by  her  very  nature, 
is  the  prominent  element  of  her  life.  With  men 
their  gifts  are  their  best,  sometimes  their  all.  We 
are  willing  to  let  a  man  liv^e  as  he  chooses,  if  only 
he  will  paint  us  good  pictures  or  write  us  real 
verses.  But  a  woman  must  be — well,  womanly,  vir- 
tuous above  all." 

"Virtue  is  distinctly  a  womanly  quality,  then  ?  I 
had  not  expected  you  would  admit  as  much." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean  ;  virtue  and  genius  are 
not  synonymous.  A  woman  must  have  the  first. 
A  man  may  have  either,  but  must  have  the  latter, 
if  he  succeed." 

"  He  rarely  has  both,  then,  you  think  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  take  me  too  literally." 

"  I  simply  took  your  words.  You  know  mind- 
reading  is  not  my  gift." 

"  Come,  Elaine,  we  must  not  do  this.  I  came 
here  for  my  loneliness.  The  moonlight  is  too  soft 
for  harsh  words."  Taking  her  hand  and  catching 
the  thrill  of  her  aroused  spirit,  he  longed  to  take 
her  into  his  arms  and  hush  all  questionings.  But 
she  seemed  to  feel  that  a  crisis  was  upon  them. 
Her  mind  was  quickened  into  bolder  thought  than 
usual,  and  she  went  on. 

"  You  must  surely  admit  that  a  woman's  virtue 
need  not  be  spoiled  by  the  possession  of  inferior 
gifts  ;  particularly  the  gifts  of  the  fine  arts."' 

"  Not  the  possession  of  them,  surely,  but  such  use 


90  A  WOMAN. 

of  them  as  will  bring  her  into  the  polluted  cur- 
rents of  the  world's  life." 

It  was  with  a  tinge  of  scorn,  and  you  will  for- 
give her,  that  she  replied,  directing  his  attention 
through  the  open  windows  to  the  scene  within. 

"  Those  innocent  girls  at  the  card-tables  are  not 
in  the  polluted  current,  are  they?  Last  night 
they  danced,  some  of  them,  with  more  than  a 
score  of  men,  the  most  of  whom  they  never  saw 
before.  Were  they  in  the  current,  or  out  of  it  ? 
You  know  I  am  not  opposed  to  their  doing  it.  I 
do  it  myself.  But  I  simply  was  curious  to  know 
whether  you  thought  them  safe  and  only  myself 
unsafe." 

"  Oh,  Elaine,  you  are  so  persistent.  Of  course 
you  are  safe  here.  This  is  a  choice  company  of 
men  and  women.  I  presume  none  of  them  are 
vampires.  But  this  is  only  the  beginning  of  a 
public  life  which  will  soon  carry  you  out  into  the 
full  currents  of  the  common  people,  where  you 
know  there  is  every  species  of  contaminating  ill." 

"  As  I  understand  your  philosophy,  then,  it  is 
that  a  man  or  woman  will  surely  fall  away  from 
virtue  if  once  in  the  active  world.  Man  may  do  so, 
but  if  he  possess  genius  may  still  succeed. 
Woman  can  not." 

"  Something  like  that,  only  I  don't  mean  that 
every  woman  would  become  depraved,  but  that  the 
public  would  so  regard  her,  simply  because  she 
was  out  of  her  place.  And  I  must  confess,  too, 


A   WOMAX.  91 

that  I  believe  any  woman  under  such  influences 
would  fall  into  hard,  worldly  ways  of  thinking, 
would  grow  more  and  more  a  stranger  to  womanly 
affection  arid  purposes,  and  become  more  masculine 
and  unattractive." 

"Public  opinion   is  still   your  criterion,  is   it? 
And  delicate,  fancy-work,  hysterical  women  are 
still  your  ideals  !     I  so  scorn  the  one,  when  I  face 
duty,  and  so  detest  the  others,  that  I  fear  lest  we  . 
be  unable  to  find  mutually  congenial  friendships." 

"  Elaine,  you  must  not  say  that.  You  know  you 
are  my  ideal  woman.  I  dislike  weak,  and  admire 
strong  women,  just  as  much  as  you  do." 

"  Strong  in  what  ?  Mere  negative  virtue  ?  By 
the  way,  what  is  this  virtue  you  worship  before  ? 
Is  it  something  in  nature  apart  from  one's  facul- 
ties and  accomplishments  ?  A  resident  inherit- 
ance in  a  small  portion  of  the  human  family  ?  I 
have  thought  virtue  was  character,  and  character 
is  as  varied  as  men  are.  Yours  is  the  sum  of 
your  capabilities  and  their  uses.  Mine  is  no  less. 
If  yours  is  to  plead  for  justice  for  men,  to  be  crit- 
icised, probably  hated  by  the  lawless  and  oppres- 
sive, why  not  mine,  in  keeping  myself  unspotted 
from  the  world,  to  make  it  forget  its  sullen  selfish- 
ness, and  sing  to  itself  of  noble  living  under  my 
leading  ?  Or  is  it  the  prerogative  of  man  alone  to 
lead  and  help  the  many  ?  woman's  to  lead  and 
help  the  two  or  three  of  her  household,  and  that 
with  sixteenth  century  limitations  ?" 


92  A   WOMAN. 

"  But  you  would  unsex  the  race,  my  dear." 
"  Perhaps  it  needs  a  little  unsexing.  If  woman's 
sphere  is  fixed  by  her  sex  to  be  either  domestic 
service  or  the  gratifying  of  the  smaller  and  more 
ignoble  propensities  of  men  ;  if  she  can  only  suffer 
and  then  see  another  accomplish ;  if  her  work  and 
glory,  yes,  and  immortality,  are  forever  to  be  by 
proxy,  because  of  her  sex ;  if  man  must  always 
be  master  and  director,  and  the  winner  of  all  good 
things  by  reason  of  his  sex,  then  to  unsex  the  race 
were  not  a  bad  mission.  If  I  remember  correctly, 
the  ideal  relations  of  men  and  women,  as  an- 
nounced by  the  Great  Teacher,  are  to  know  no 
distinction  of  sex ;  while  the  life  beyond  is  de- 
clared to  be  wholly  without,  sex  relations,  even 
marriage  itself  being  abrogated.  If  these  be  ideal, 
then  to  make  the  whole  lives  of  men  and  women 
gravitate  about-  two  wholly  dissimilar  centers,  with 
a  dead  line  between,  is  to  disprove  evolution. 
And  ideals  are  never  to  be  attained. 

"But  it  is  false.      All  life  is  one,  differing  in 

minor  details,  but  common  in    essentials.      The 

same  elements  are  in  manhood  and  womanhood." 

"I  confess  that  seems  as  true  as  strange  to  me." 

"Then  neither  man  nor    woman    can    succeed 

without  virtue.     Genius  in  either  case  can  only 

enhance  virtue.     If  the  virtue  depart,  it  is  not  on 

account  of  genius,  but  in  spite  of  it." 

"Well,  I  didn't  come  all  this  way,  Elaine,  to 
become    a  convert   to    woman's  rights.     There  is 


A  WOMAN.  93 

one  woman  right,  just  right,  and  she  is  right  here. 
Let  us  see  the  lake  wooing  the  moon.  Perhaps 
it  will  change  our  mood." 

"  If  I  have  seemed  earnest,  Max,  it  is  because  I 
have  no  higher  ambition  in  the  world  than  to  have 
my  life  measure  with  yours.  I  will  not  be  a 
dwarf.  If  I  may  riot  be  of  your  stature,  I  will  not 
walk  beside  you." 

"  Elaine,  I  have  no  impulse,  no  thought,  no  will, 
that  does  not  already  and  always  look  up  to  find 
your  face  and  its  approval.  Here  by  the  still 
water  of  this  centuried  lake,  constant  through  the 
infinite  variety  of  its  moods,  contented  and  restful 
in  the  enlocking  arms  of  these  trusty  hills,  at  peace 
with  the  world,  I  again  and  again  give  all,  reserv- 
ing no  thought,  no  emotion,  all,  to  thee,  Elaine. 
I  would  not  limit  a  gift  of  yours  any  more  than 
I  would  strangle  a  babe  at  its  mother's  breast. 
I  do  not  always  see  with  your  eyes,  nor  think 
with  your  brain.  You.  would  not  have  me  do  so. 
But,  and  perhaps  I  have  learned  it  fully  just  to- 
night, I  do  not  want  you  to  see  with  my  eyes, 
nor  think  with  my  brain.  My  devoutest  wish  is 
that  we  may  see  the  same  things.  So  endeth  the 
first  lesson — severe  in  the  lettering,  sweet  and 
helpful  in  the  sentence.  If  to-morrow  you  will 
teach  me  another,  as  simple  and  as  trusting,  I  will 
be  your  most  grateful  pupil." 

"  And  you  will  never  doubt  me  again,  Max ;  I 
mean  my  ambitions,  my  real  motive  in  life?" 


94  A  WOMAN. 

"Not  again." 

"  Then  I  am  doubly  glad  you  came.'5 
For  a  long  time  they  sat,  lulled  into  absolute 
peace  by  the  communing  waves,  laughingly  shying 
back  arid  forth  at  their  feet,  clapping  their  tiny 
hands,  wringing  their  fairy-like  fingers  in  mock 
astonishment,  lisping  crooning  little  baby  words, 
and  dancing  time  to  the  gentle  wind's  ballads. 
Out  and  beyond,  the  dimly  waving  line  of  the  hills 
rose  higher  and  higher  into  the  heavens,  a 
shadowy  way  for  the  soul's  ascent.  Lake,  river 
and  sea ;  plain,  hills,  and  mountain  ;  earth  and 
sky  arid  stars,  each  a  new  expression  of  the  Infi- 
nite, were,  after  all,  one  vast  universe.  Aye,  uni- 
verse and  Infinite  were  not  parts,  but  One.  So, 
too,  their  different  and  changing  hopes,  and  faiths, 
and  endeavors  were  one  communion,  one  love,  and 
one  life.  Was  not  the  Infinite  in  them  both? 
Did  they  not  both  worship  Him  in  His  hills,  and 
stars,  and  reason  ? 


CHAP  TEE  II. 

THE  Lakes  were  aquiver  with  the  new  day,  the 
hill-sides  were  gardens  of  the  birds,  as  Max  and 
Elaine  started  out  for  Lake  Placid,  a  sharp  little 
walk  from  the  hotel. 

"  Now  for  the  second  lesson,"  said  Harley. 

"  Don't  let's  'scuss  anything  to-day,  Max." 


A  WOMAN.  95 

"  We  won't ;  we'll  just  talk,  and  if  I  learn  any- 
thing I  hope  I'll  have  the  grace  to  say  so." 

They  stopped  a  moment  to  look  back  upon  the 
sweeping  horizon  so  far  away. 

"  Can  you  see  The  Pass  yonder  between  Mcln- 
tyre  and  Wall  Face  ?  It  seems  impossible  that  we 
are  so  close  to  that  remote  savagery  of  the  red 
men.  Every  hill  has  been  tracked  with  their 
trails." 

"And  their  women  have  raised  corn  in  these 
very  valleys.  That's  woman's  rights  for  you, 
Elaine." 

"  How  can  you  be  so  cruel  ?" 

"I  didn't  mean  it." 

"  Anyway,  the  argument  is  mine.  Their  women 
were  slaves,  too,  their  lords  simply  gave  them  dif- 
ferent tasks  from  some  of  ours.  I  don't  know ;  I 
believe  I  would  prefer  raising  corn  to  domestic  ser- 
vice. Not  that  I  dislike  housework  or  home  life. 
I  love  it.  Mamma  and  I  always  do  our  own  work 
when  I  am  at  home.  But  to  know  nothing  else, 
and  to  be  compelled  to  do  it  as  the  only  way  of 
pleasing  your  master — that,  never !" 

"  Well,  you  needn't." 

"  Here  is  the  public  library.  Let  us  take  some 
books  with  us  ;  you  may  want  to  read  to  me." 

"  What  shall  we  select?" 

"  Oh,  something  appropriate.  Here  is  Sanborn's 
'  John  Brown.'  By  the  way,  we  must  visit  John 
Brown's  grave  before  we  return.  It  lies  a  few 


96  A  WOMAN. 

miles  back,  on  the  road  to  Keene  Valley.  I  have 
ail  irresistible  longing  to  sing  'John  Brown's  body 
lies  a-mouldering  in  the  grave,"  over  his  very 
dust." 

"  You  might  see  his  soul  go  marching  on." 

"  I  feel  it  now.  Liberty  is  in  the  air,  even  for 
us  poor  slaves  of  the  hearth." 

*'  Don't.    I  can  hear  your  chains  clanking  now." 

"No,  that's  just  the  trouble.  You  men  don't 
hear  them.  It's  like  the  hum  of  insects  or  the 
ticking  of  a  clock,  you've  gotten  used  to  it." 

"  Ah  !  here  is  Bishop  Potter's  '  Way -Marks.' 
You  honor  the  dead,  and  I  will  remember  the  liv- 
ing." 

"  Do  you  know,  Lake  Placid  would  not  be  what 
it  is  without  the  Potters  ?  A  true  friend  to  liberty, 
the  Bishop  is,  too." 

"  I  am  sorry  now  I  took  it.  With  you  on  the 
one  hand,  and  John  Brown  and  the  Bishop  on  the 
other,  I  fear  an  ambush.  But  I  love  Sanborn's 
musical  lines  so  well  I  can  lose  myself  in  them  and 
escape.  I  was  under  the  spell  of  his  poetic  fervor 
for  two  summers  at  Concord,  when  Alcott  was  still 
living  and  called  together  his  Transcendental 
Saints  in  the  Orchard  School  of  Philosophy.  Next 
fo  the  old  Vegetarian,  I  admired  Sanborn.  Gentle, 
tender,  far-seeing,  but  close  to  one  all  the  while, 
leading  you  by  easy  stages  a  long  way, out  toward 
the  soul  of  things.  It  was  like  the  starting  up  of 
a  cool  breeze  after  Plato  and  Hegel's  disciples  had 


A  WOMAN.  97 

exhausted  the  oxygen,  to  have  Sanborn  talk.  He 
knew  the  poets  as  brothers.  He  and  Herbert  were 
kindred  souls." 

"  There  you  can  see  Placid  through  the  pines.  I 
wonder  they  don't  take  those  dead  stumps  away. 
This  approach  is  distressingly  marred  by  them. 
We  must  go  farther  up.  Here  is  the  trail  to  an 
old  camp.  It  leads  to  a  quiet  spot." 

"Lead  on, thou  rejuvenated  Indian  maiden,  re- 
turned to  teach  these  nineteenth  century  bucks  the 
emancipation  of  woman !" 

"  Hush  !  you  will  frighten  the  birds." 

A  mocking  little  thrush  peeped,  and  laughed  to 
himself.  He  too  had  loved.  That  wouldn't  frighten 
him;  oh,  no.  These  were  lovers'  woods.  To  be 
sure,  he  did  the  singing,  and  provided  the  worms, 
but  a  submissive  little  lord  was  he.  He  was 
neither  master  nor  slave.  Not  even  nature  belies 
her  impulse  of  freedom.  What  nature  speaks  in 
instinct,  revelation  never  denies  in  law.  Man  alone 
perverts  both  instinct  and  law. 

"  Here,  I  think,  you  see  Placid  at  its  best. 
Northeast  is  Moose  Island,  and  West  Lake  is  just 
beyond.  I  sat  here  one  evening  last  week  while  a 
cloud  hung  over  White  Face,  against  which  the 
setting  sun  made,  not  a  rainbow,  but  a  square  of 
tints.  It  was  evidently  an  end  of  what  would 
have  been  a  huge  bow  had  there  been  cloud 
enough.  But  every  tint  was  there.  I  thought  of 
it  as  life  in  outline.  Every  soul,  no  matter  how 


98  A  WOMAN. 

limited  or  cut  off  by  its  environment,  has  in  it  the 
primary  colors.  Other  lives,  however  lengthened 
and  arched  by  education  and  culture,  cannot  by 
any  means  add  an  eighth  color." 

"A  pretty  picture,  my  dear." 

"  Truer  even  than  pretty.  It  is  not  a  question 
as  to  whether  men  or  women  shall  do  this  or  that. 
It  is,  whether  any  person  shall  be  permitted  to  do 
anything  which  any  other  is  not  permitted  to  do. 
Shall  not  law,  and  custom,  and  creed  come  to  be 
the  same  for  all  men  at  last  ?  Is  it  any  worse  for 
the  few  to  rule,  than  for  the  few  to  make  the  laws, 
or  to  establish  doctrine  ?" 

"  But  are  the  people  capable  ?" 

"No.  But  children  fed  upon  soup  sicken  at 
meat.  If  you  had  always  been  told  that  you  were 
idiotic,  or  untrustworthy,  or  born  with  a  certain 
bent  of  character,  you  would  have  believed  it  after 
a  while,  and  lived  it  too.  It  is  as  though  I  were 
to  cage  that  mountain  thrush  yonder  and  say  to 
it  every  morning  :  '  Fly,  you  idler.  Don't  you  know 
what  wings  are  for?  Don't  droop  your  head. 
Shame  upon  you !  See  what  gifts  God  has  be- 
stowed upon  you!  You  need  only  to  use  them. 
See  where  others  of  your  kind  have  flown  and 
builded  their  nests.  Fly  !'  " 

"  But  many  of  the  *  caged  birds '  do  fly.  Wit- 
ness the  children  of  poverty  who  have  become 
rich  or  great." 

"Yes,  the  cage  has  not  been  as  strong  as  some 


A  WOMAN.  99 

would  have  it.  Now  and  then  an  over-zealous 
prisoner  has  broken  out  and  has  risen  in  spite  of 
his  imprisonment." 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  fine  scorn  on  this 
young  girl's  face.  We  have  studied  her  at  the  re- 
spectful distance  of  the  hotel  parlor,  let  us  look  at 
her  now  with  her  lover's  eyes.  Notice  first  her 
peculiar  mouth  ;  as  sweet  as  a  baby's  at  the  cor- 
ners, but  firm  as  a  soldier's  two  thirds  of  its 
breadth.  Max  always  wanted  to  kiss  her  where 
the  curves  turned  into  dimples  on  either  side  of 
her  beautiful  chin.  Her  hazel  eyes  are  far  apart 
but  large,  covered  with  full  lids  and  long,  sweep- 
ing lashes.  They  make  her  face  like  tinted  mar- 
ble when  she  sleeps,  like  irresistible,  half  divine 
energy  when  she  wakes.  In  the  cornea  there  is 
the  tint  of  the  bluebells,  giving  them  that  delicacy 
of  expression  unpicturable.  Her  forehead,  too 
noble  for  the  current  idea  of  beauty,  is  partially 
hidden  by  a  roll  of  glossy  hair  hanging  carelessly 
free — not  a  bang,  how  gratefully  do  I  record  it ! 
To  see  this  head  with  its  queenly  poise,  was  to 
know  that  it  was  incapable  of  any  small  thoughts. 
Her  superb  figure  bears  out  the  indication  of  her 
face  and  head.  Even  the  very  tips  of  her  fingers 
are  expressive  of  fine  feeling,  fine  execution.  A 
nobility  which  will  protect  her  like  a  circle  of  fire 
anywhere  in  America  clothes  her  like  a  garment. 
Max  is  convinced  of  this  at  last ;  still  a  homesick- 


100  A  WOMAN. 

ness  hurts  him  all  over  when  he  thinks  of  her  as 
the  servant  of  the  people. 

"  Elaine,  I  cannot,  cannot  give  you  to  the  world. 
You  are  mine,  eyes,  Voice,  soul,  every  gift." 

"  Maxwell,  I  cannot,  cannot  give  you  to  the 
world.  You  are  mine,  eyes,  voice — " 

"  Don't." 

"  But  you  see  where  it  ends.  Men  can  praise, 
admire,  and  employ  you,  but  not  your  wife." 

"  But  the  family  must  have  sustenance  and  pro- 
tection. Man  alone  can  furnish  that." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine 
your  loss  of  health — a  reality  if  you  don't  rest 
more,  Max.  It  would  be  no  disgrace  then  for  me 
to  earn  money,  would  it  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  Nor  for  yourself  and  mother 
now." 

"  Well,  then  is  it  not  a  matter  of  pride  more 
than  a  matter  of  '  eternal  fitness,'  that  you  men 
insist  upon  earning  all  of  the  living?^  But  after 
all,  do  we  not  do  as  much  to  earn  it,  when  we  do 
our  part  in  domestic  service  ?  The  only  difference 
in  this  latter  course  is  that  we  do  our  share  of  the 
labor,  often  more,  but  have  no  share  in  the  emolu- 
ments or  even  in  the  development  of  the  husband's 
life — except  by  proxy.  The  moon  is  very  sweet, 
and  subdued,  shining  by  the  reflected  light  of  the 
sun — but,  thanks,  I  prefer  to  be  a  star  at  least,  and 
shine  in  my  own  light." 


A    WOMAN.  101 

"  But  the  home  life,  its  duties  and  burdens,  who 
shall  bear  them  ?" 

"The  wife  and  mother.  First,  she  ought  to  be  a 
willing  wife,  and  no  less  a  willing  mother.  Then 
her  work  for  the  world  should  be  no  more  than 
her  inclinations,  her  time,  and  her  capacity  will 
tit  her  for.  Woman  asks  for  nothing  more  than 
that  she  shall  be  permitted  to  do  anything  she 
can  within  the  sex  line  limitation.  Little  by  little 
she  has  worked  her  way  into  the  arts,  trades  and 
professions ;  into  the  colleges  and  universities. 
She  cannot  stop  here.  An  education,  a  created 
ambition,  with  nothing  to  gratify  it,  means  ani- 
malism. She  must  go  on.  But  there  ought  to  be 
but  one  test  for  men  and  women  alike  :  Can  she, 
can  he,  do  this  work  ?  Yes ;  then  she,  then  he, 
ought." 

"  Very  fine,  my  little  reformer,  I  agree.  That 
saves  me.  No  one  can  go  starring  across  the  con- 
tinent when  her  husband's  garments  are  in  tatters. 
I  can  imagine  you  lifting  the  people  up  to  '  Home, 
Sweet  Home,'  after  getting  a  telegram  like  this : 
'  Come  home,  bread  sour,  buttons  off,  the  maid 
eloped.— M.  H."  " 

"  I  did  not  want  to  have  to  tell  you,  Max,  that 
no  ambition  of  mine  shall  ever  tempt  me  to  a 
thought  of  leaving  my  home  uncared  for.  I  shall 
be  a  fixed  star.  In  music  and  art,  and  in  every 
way,  I  shall  seek  to  be  helpful  to  my  own  city, 
already  so  kind  to  my  poor  gifts.  But  I  shall  ex- 


102  A  WOMAN. 

pect  from  you  no  prolonged  absences,  professional 
or  otherwise.  We  shall  be  at  home  together,  we 
shall  go  abroad  together.  But  I  promise  you  now 
I  shall  figure  in  every  case  you  plead,  and  in  the 
acceptance  of  cases  as  well  as  in  the  pleading. 
They  say  there  is  nearly  always  a  woman  in  every 
lawsuit.  There  shall  be  one  in  all  yours.  I  have 
been  secretly  reading  law  for  more  than  a  year. 
How  do  you  like  it  ?" 

"  If  I  were  to  sue  for  a  divorce,  you  would  figure 
double,  wouldn't  you  ?" 

"Possibly  treble,  for  I  would  certainly  plead 
my  own  case.  But  if  I  have  health,-  and  your 
help,  I  mean  that  the  world  shall  never  think  of 
Maxwell  Harley  without  also  thinking  of  his  wife. 
I  mean  it  very  modestly,  Max,  but  I  mean  it  most 
thoroughly." 

"  I  believe  you,  and  believe  in  you.  I  would  not 
have  it  otherwise,  if  I  could.  But  say,  Elaine,  you 
won't  vote,  will  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  we  live  in  Boston.  Not  that  I  think 
the  ballot  is  the  outer  circle  of  woman's  sphere ; 
it  is  only  incidental  to  it.  The  great  thing  is 
equality.  Spiritual — that  is  conceded.  Mental — 
we  assume  it.  Physical — God  wills  it;  not  in 
strength,  but  in  the  rights  of  body." 

"  I  have  it  now ;  the  lecture  field.  We'll  take 
an  evening  together.  Joint  discussion,  say.  You 
deny,  and  I'll  affirm  the  proposition:  'Is  man 
woman's  equal  in  any  sense  ?'  " 


A  WOMAN.  103 

"You  will  need  to  read  up  zealously  to  prove  it." 

"Oh,  just  in  sport,  you  know.  I'll  step  out  at 
the  close,  and  admit  that  I  am  defeated,  that  I 
really  take  the  same  side  that  my  wife  does." 

"  You  would  need  to  do  that  to  set  the  audience 
square  with  you  mentally,  Max." 

"  Why  will  you  be  so  stinging  ?  " 

"  Because  I'm  your  honey  bee,  I  guess." 

"  I  wish  you  would  attend  to  the  honey  part  a 
little  more  carefully." 

He  leaned  toward  her  with  such  yielding  tender- 
ness, she  forgot  all  else  but  that  she  loved  him. 
The  little  thrush  suddenly  bethought  him  of  a 
leafly  bower,  where  an  unguarded  nest  held  a  very 
lonesome  mother  bird.  With  a  faintly- twittered 
pang  over  his  neglect,  he  flew  to  his  own  love-tree, 
the  air  vibrant  with  his  vocal  joy. 

So  endeth  the  second  lesson. 

Clouds  filed  into  solemn  line  from  White  Face 
to  Marcy,  and  beyond  to  Hurricane.  Quietly  as 
death  comes  in,  unannounced,  the  battalions  of 
heaven  were  wheeled  into  line  for  action.  The 
lake  was  lead  in  motion  and  color.  Every  bird- 
voice  was  hushed.  One  could  almost  hear  the 
beating  of  his  heart.  The  Adirondacks  were 
asleep. 

But  the   enemy   stole  on    apace.    A   gleam   of 
swords,  sunbright,  but  not  the  sound  of  a  rattling 
wheel  or  rolling  drum.     Again  and  again  .the  tern 
pest  swords  gleamed  like  some  mighty  pre-battle 


104  A  WOMAN. 

drill.  Now  low  over  the  distant  hills  the  rumble 
of  a  nearer  approach  is  heard.  The  whistling  fife- 
winds  suddenly  herald  the  rapid  on-coming.  Be- 
fore one  can  think,  or  turn,  with  dash  and  fury, 
with  hissing  rain  like  shot,  and  crashing  boughs 
shaking  like  spears,  with  push  and  blinding  smit- 
ing of  sheeted  water,  the  storm  hordes  are  upon 
the  earth.  The  lake  rushes  here  and  there  for 
escape.  The  trees  dodge  in  blind  frenzy  only  to 
lean  into  the  arms  of  the  grasping  tornado.  Too 
frightened  to  cry  out,  the  earth  is  dumb,  in  bug, 
and  bird,  and  beast.  It  bows  to  the  enemy  and 
surrenders. 

Between  the  mists  and  parting  branches  might 
have  been  seen,  could  one  have  faced  the  tempest, 
a  man  and  a  woman.  They  were  standing  with 
bowed  heads  in  the  midst  of  the  battle  of  elements, 
quiet,  waiting,  filled,  in  spite  of  the  danger,  with 
awe  before  such  superb  grandeur.  Neither  was 
braver  than  the  other,  neither  clung  alone  to  the 
other.  Each  sheltered,  each  fortified  the  other. 

The  Universe  is  one  whether  in  storm  or  calm. 
All  is  one.  They  were  one. 

CHAPTER    III. 

Poor  John  Hedderson  is  on  trial  for  his  life, 
charged  by  the  State  of  Massachusetts  with  de- 
liberately shooting  one  Stepen  Miller,  a  Pinkerton 
detective,  while,  in  company  with  a  hundred  of  his 


A  WOMAN.  105 

band,  endeavoring  to  get  possession  of  the  Union 
Woolen  Mills.  Not  only  had  the  employes  been 
forced  to  a  reduction  in  wages  of  twelve  per  cent, 
under  a  plea  of  a  falling  market,  bnt  it  was  beyond 
question  another  pooled  effort  on  the  part  of  cap- 
ital to  break  into  fragments  the  Amalgamated 
Association  of  labor.  The  men  had  struck  peace- 
ably, but  resolutely,  saying  they  and  their  famil- 
ies were  confronting  starvation  now ;  it  were  better 
to  die  for  their  rights  and  for  the  future,  than  to 
starve.  They  would  do  no  damage  to  the  property, 
but  none  should  work  but  their  own. 

In  a  bloodhound  attempt  to  drive  them  away  the 
Pinkertons  had  been  shipped  into  the  grounds. 
After  a  slight  skirmish  they  were  driven  back; 
several  had  been  wounded,  one  Stephen  Miller,  was 
killed.  A  policeman  standing,  no  one  knew  where, 
swore  John  Hedderson  fired  the  fatal  shot.  He  is 
on  trial,  indicted  by  the  Grand  Jury  for  murder  in 
the  first  degree.  Powerful  legal  talent  is  arrayed 
against  him.  So  common  has  become  the  feeling 
against  the  Pinkertons,  so  bitterly  are  they  hated 
by  the  workingmen,  that  this  is  to  be  made  a  test 
case.  The  slayer  must  be  hung,  or  their  days  of 
service  are  numbered. 

Maxwell  Harley  is  Hedderson's  attorney.  He  is 
alone.  The  poor  fellow  has  no  money  and  the  treas- 
ury of  the  association  is  nearly  empty  on  account  of 
the  long  strike.  No,  not  alone.  Every  brief,  every 
decree  of  the  higher  courts,  the  impeachment  of  the 


106  A  WOMAN. 

police  officer,  every  extenuating  circumstance  in 
the  prisoner's  position  arid  relation  to  the  affray, 
have  been  scrutinized,  corrected,  and  the  advocate 
himself  filled  with  inspiration  by  a  noble  woman 
bringing  her  intuition,  her  legal  learning,  and, 
above  all,  her  sympathies,  her  whole  nature  into 
the  case.  That  woman  is  Elaine  Harley.  Beside 
her  husband  at  the  opening  of  the  case,  two- thirds 
of  his  jury  selections  were  made  by  her  final  de- 
cision. She  seemed  to  read  every  man  as  he  stood 
for  examination.  Every  hour  of  the  trial  she  has 
supplied  notes  and  references  ;  in  cross-examina- 
tion twice  her  whispered  questions  have  proved 
fatal  to  the  prosecution. 

On  the  morning  of  her  husband's  address  to  the 
jury  she  has  filled  him  with  an  almost  religious 
devotion  to  his  cause,  and  a  resolute  affection  for 
his  client  and  his  overpowered  brethren.  The  vast 
audience  wondered  what  impassioned  orator  had 
been  suddenly  let  down  among  them.  The  mil- 
lionaire proprietors  of  the  mills  fidgeted,  sneered, 
reddened,  paled,  trembled  before  his  denunciation 
of  the  power  of  monopoly,  and  the  unjust  purchas- 
ing power  of  money.  Men  in  coarse  clothes  wept 
like  children  in  a  death-chamber,  sobbing  piteously 
as  though  with  bursting  throats,  while  he  pictured 
their  hardships,  struggles  and  helpless  woes.  The 
jury  leaned  forward  with  eyes  fixed  under  the  half- 
hypnotic  suggestion  of  his  awful  truth. 

It  was  his  second  speech ;  there  was  to  be  no 


A  WOMAN.  107 

reply.  He  cleared  the  field.  Not  an  opposing 
argument  stood  erect  when  he  was  done.  Men 
wondered  where  he  found  his  facts  as  well  as  his 
eloquence.  Surely  he  had  been  one  of  these  men. 
No;  but  by  a  woman's  sympathy  he  had  learned  to 
be  one  of  them  without  passing  through  their  very 
trials.  They  had  stood  in  the  empty  homes  of 
the  poor  too  often  not  to  know  something  of  the 
high  crimes  society  commits  against  them.  When 
he  described  these  poor  men  standing  in  the  de- 
fense of  their  homes  and  babies,  before  the  bull- 
dogs of  treacherous,  unlicensed,  and  un-American 
warfare,  the  judge  looked  up  from  the  charge 
which  he  was  already  writing,  as  though  spell- 
bound. 

Elaine's  eyes  burned  like  coals  of  fire.  It  was 
more  than  she  had  even  dreamed  he  could  do.  In 
a  moment  more  it  was  over.  A  noise  like  swollen 
waters  breaking  through  a  dam  was  heard,  until 
the  judge's  gavel  fell.  In  stern  tones  he  read  the 
charge,  adding  his  own  doubt  of  the  officer's  testi- 
mony, closing  with  the  customary  caution  concern- 
ing the  benefit  of  a  doubt. 

The  jury  retired.  In  four  minutes  they  returned 
and  rendered  their  verdict,  "Not  guilty."  No 
power  on  earth  could  have  stilled  the  storm.  It 
rose  higher  and  higher.  At  first  low,  ominous ; 
then  lighter,  happier,  louder,  freer,  until  with 
shouts  the  people  bore  the  acquitted  man,  and  his 
brave  defender  on  their  brawny  arms  from  the 


133  A  WOMAN. 

court  room.  The  judge  and  the  prosecuting  attor- 
neys alone  remained  to  congratulate  the  red- 
cheeked  woman,  who  stood  their  peer  in  law, 
although  not  admitted  to  the  rights  of  the  bar. 
They  did  it  unreservedly  and  heartily. 


Tremont  Temple  is  filled  to  its  utmost  capacity. 
The  greatest  pianist  of  the  age  is  to  be  received  by 
the  musicians  and  the  artists  of  Boston.  Expec- 
tancy is  at  its  highest.  Who  will  do  the  honors  of 
Boston  ?  All  eyes  scan  the  program.  Without 
exception  a  sigh  of  relief  is  heard.  "Elaine  Har- 
ley,  the  celebrated  cornetist." 

Her  name  divides  the  numbers  of  the  program 
into  two  groups.  As  she  appears  the  applause  is 
greater,  if  possible,  than  when  Europe's  greatest 
artist  bowed  himself  out  for  the  third  time  a 
moment  before.  She  has  arranged  a  medley  from 
Mendelssohn's  "Songs  Without  Words,"  closing  all 
with  the  Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic. 

Like  delicate  waves  of  ether,  her  first  tones  steal 
away  the  senses  of  men  and  women  not  accustomed 
to  yield  easily.  A  stillness  like  Lake  Placid 
asleep  before  the  storm,  chained  every  listener.  A 
shock  in  change  of  key,  time  and  theme,  sets  every 
nerve  twitching,  to  be  followed  by  wailing  anguish, 
tearful,  tender  pleading,  every  tone  a  sob.  Then 
prayers  of  gratitude  came,  lifting  the  soul  from  its 


A  WOMAN.  109 

droopings  upon  sweeping  wings  of  praise,  and  then, 
like  a  revelation  of  national  glory,  the  Battle  Hymn. 
She  has  at  last  found  the  secret  pitch  of  this 
American^  assembly.  It  trembles  and  sways,  and 
swings;  great  beating  waves  surge  to  and  fro.  The 
People,  the  People — freedom,  liberty.  They  rise 
with  the  closing  strain,  and  sing  it  as  one  man. 
The  proudest  man  in  Boston  that  night  was  Max- 
well Harley. 


A  DREAM. 

JULY  13th,  1892,  in  a  spirit  of  adventure,  I  built 
a  pine-blazing  fire  on  the  very  pinnacle  of  Cobble 
Hill.  In  a  mystic  sense  it  was  the  most  dangerous 
and  hazardous  deed  of  my  life.  I  little  dreamed 
of  the  consequences ;  it  was  done  in  half-thought- 
less bravado.  The  climbing  had  been  circuitous 
and  difficult.  But  the  higher  air  was  strangely 
revivifying.  The  vast  mountain-riven  horizon, 
spread  like  two  great  wings  in  either  valley,  until 
one's  spirit  mounted  on  them  to  an  exultation  ex- 
pressible first  in  shouts,  then  in  the  desire  for  some 
new  endeavor.  What  more  novel  than  to  send  the 
cedars'  blue  smoke  curling  where  for  generations 
nothing  but  sun,  air,  and  sound-waves  had  moved. 

The  tinder-dry  pine  was  carried  up  by  not  very 
easy  stages  until  the  mirthful  crackle  and  then 
the  sheeted  roar  of  the  fire  told  how  delighted 
were  the  imprisoned  sun-sprites  to  be  free,  rushing 
frantically  into  the  embracing  air.  But,  alas!  what 
other  spirits  had  my  rash  exuberance  set  forth ! 

Wearied  at  last  with  the  sport,  and  the  sweep- 
ing spaces  of  vision  whose  only  limits  were  the 
more  distant  mountains  to  the  west,  and  Lake 

(110) 


A  DREAM.  Ill 

Champlain  in  the  east,  I  sought  a  shelter  from  the 
now  noon-sun,  and  found  it  beneath  the  jutting 
pinnacle,  in  a  half-concealed  cave,  whose  shadows 
lay  far  back  like  hunted  lives  from  the  searching 
light.  My  "  blue  serge  "  coat  folded  over  an  age- 
rounded  stone  for  a  pillow,  made  my  last  wish  as 
sleep  came  on,  that  this  might  b,e  another  Bethel. 

And,  indeed,  how  little  we  see  with  our  eyes  or 
hear  with  our  ears!  How  the  great  unguessed 
mystery  of  the  eternal  and  spiritual  pulses  unfelt 
all  about  our  boastful  senses  when  we  wake!  We 
say  indifferently  enough,  "  Here  is  life."  The 
chemist  laughs,  and  cries,  "  No,  here  is  life,  un- 
derneath all  you  saw."  The  biologist  nervously 
plucks  our  mental  sleeve,  to  suggest,  half-hesitat- 
ingly :  "  No,  here  is  life,  deeper  still.  Not  the 
molecule,  but  the  atom,  is  the  constituent  unit." 
Then  the  metaphysician  whispers,  "  Not  so ;  or- 
ganization is  not  life.  The  Infinite  alone  is  life. 
Not  things  of  sense  are  life,  but  a  somewhat  of 
activity  by  which  things  seen  in  multiform  phe- 
nomena seem  to  be  to  the  mind — this  is  life. 
The  lump  is  not.  The  mind,  acting  and  acted 
upon  by  mind,  through  phenomena,  alone  is."  So 
away  from  things  to  entities  I  passed  as  I  slept. 

Then  all  at  once  I  knew  what  awful  conse- 
quences had  followed  my  almost  childish  sport.  I 
had  with  unwitting  hands  built  the  signal  fire  of 
the  ancient  Indian  councils,  calling  from  the  un- 
happy hunting-ground  the  departed  spirits  of  the 


112  A  DEEAM. 

war-like  but  reverent  Iroquois.  The  unpeopled 
Adirondacks  were  in  a  moment  as  populous  as  is 
the  sea  with  waves.  They  seemed  to  come  at  first 
not  as  individual  chiefs  and  warriors,  but  in  indis- 
tinct groups  of  spirit.  I  soon  understood  this  to 
be  the  other  world  classification.  Those  similar 
in  nature  had  grown  closer  together,  until  so  com- 
mon were  their  tastes,  desires  and  habits,  it  was 
difficult  to  distinguish  one  from  the  other,  or  to  be 
sure  of  identity  at  all.  But  as  a  company  of  them 
passed  the  wide  front  of  my  cave-couch,  I  saw  that 
waving  about  each  spirit  was  an  outline  of  gleam- 
ing light,  closely  resembling  the  electric  flash 
passing  through  a  vacuum  when  the  receiver  is  put 
into  contact  with  the  opposite  wires  of  an  electric 
battery.  I  thought  at  first  these  were  physical 
outlines,  but  I  soon  saw  that  it  was  merely  the 
suggestion  of  my  own  mental  images  of  person- 
ality. 

There  was  action  of  some  high  sort,  but  it 
seemed  more  like  a  glowing  thought  than  any- 
thing material.  I  knew  then  that  the  highest  per- 
sonality is  not  anthropomorphic,  but  intellectual, 
emotional  and  willful,  and  that  possibly  the  Greek 
conception  of  God  is  truer  than  the  Latin.  (So 
did  I  blend  my  waking  dreams  with  this  awful 
vision). 

.  Not  long  could  I  observe  thus  these  new  spirit- 
ual phenomena.  In  almost  an  instant  nothing  was 
observable  but  the  sadness  of  these  myriad  faces. 


A  DEEAM.  113 

It  seemed  that  it  had  become  possible  to  so  indi- 
vidualize emotion  as  to  make  it  appear  to  be  the 
whole  person  for  the  time.  Each  form  seemed 
the  personification  of  sadness.  It  was  the  strang- 
est fascination  I  had  ever  experienced.  No  subtle 
hypnotism  could  resemble  it.  I  yielded  to  it 
without  an  effort  of  resistance. 

You  have  felt  your  throat  beating  with  some 
awful  sorrow,  until  you  had  to  hold  your  hot  hand 
against  it  lest  you  gasp  for  breath.  Imagine  one's 
whole  nature  to  have  come  into  such  a  condition. 
My  eyes  were  not  wet,  for  I  seemed  all  tears.  I 
knew  nothing  in  the  universe  but  that  these  souls 
were  sad.  I  had  swooned  to  all  else. 

Is  this  the  heavenly  sympathy?  Had  they  cast 
it  upon  me  like  a  strange  spell  ?  Will  it  ever 
come  to  be  a  condition  of  this  poor,  self-killed 
humanity  here  on  earth?  I  hope  it  may.  My 
throat  seems  bursting  now  with  the  memory  of  that 
awful  consciousness  of  other  hearts'  woe.  If  a 
score  of  us  could  invoke  it  to  abide,  the  world 
would  be  saved.  Aye,  if  one.  And  has  there 
not  been  One  ? 

I  listened  at  first  for  words.  There  were  none. 
There  was  no  need.  Even  in  this  life  we  never 
speak  the  best  things  ;  we  communicate  them.  So 
now  every  glance,  every  motion,  every  posture  was 
a  communion  with  my  outdrawn  soul.  I  began  to 
be  conscious  of  their  emotions  without  uttered 
speech.  I  knew  they  were  inexpressibly  sad,  just 

8 


114  A  VKEAX. 

as  I  know  even  in  this  life  that  there  is  God. 
Echoes  of  my  own  words  came  to  me  by  and  by. 
But  the  echo,  as  happens  when  many  walls  return 
the  sound,  was  fuller,  intenser  by  far,  than  the 
original  words.  "  Homeless,"  "  Exiled,"  "Wan- 
derer." Every  pulse  of  their  palpitating  spirits 
was  a  letter's  sound.  They  were  vibrant  with 
awful  emotion. 

It  came  to  me  at  last,  that  there  is  but  one 
world.  Life  is  continuous.  It  moves  on  in  divers, 
even  diverse  directions.  It  may  reverse  its  ten- 
dencies— still,  only  one  life. 

I  knew  then  the  cause  of  this  all-controlling 
emotion.  These  cedar-fretted  hills,  these  foaming 
brooks,  these  rifted  vales,  this  very  signal-fire  pin- 
nacle of  old  Cobble,  were  of  old,  and  are  still,  the 
earth-holdings  of  these  ancestors  and  their  forbid- 
den progeny.  The  woe  of  a  race  without  a  home, 
groaning  with  the  instinct  to  perpetuate  itself,  was 
upon  these  restless  spirits.  Great  desire  was  in 
their  eyes,  such  as  Sarah  must  have  known  before 
the  angels'  visit.  A  baffled  purpose  ;  a  remem- 
bered hope — oh,  the  hopes  which  look  back  ;  and 
a  sighing  energy.  These  were  painfully  plain. 

Then  a  new  consciousness  came  upon  me  instant- 
ly, just  as  when  one  stands  in  a  tempest  night, 
lost,  and  a  sudden,  sweeping  flood  of  lightning  re- 
veals his  surroundings.  As  dreams  turn  in  keyless 
phantasmagoria,  so  now  I  knew  I  dreamed,  and  yet 


A  DREAM.  115 

separated  myself  from  the  dreamer  long  enough 
to  see  a  real  vision  of  my  own  time. 

A  vast,  countless  throng,  hungry,  restless, 
blindly  toiling;  cursing  by  their  prayers,  some- 
times praying  by  their  very  curses  ;  homeless, 
friendless  ;  at  war,  not  with  their  enemies,  their 
foes  were  too  shrewd  for  that ;  they  made  them 
murder  each  other,  it  made  the  number  less,  and 
in  part  satiated  their  frenzy  for  blood.  The  hills, 
the  plains,  the  fields,  the  seas,  all  theirs,  by  every 
right  of  life  or  reason.  Earning  but  not  receiving, 
making  but  never  owning,  building  but  never 
dwelling  within.  Millers  without  flour,  weavers 
without  raiment,  tillers  without  grain,  diggers  of 
coal  without  even  the  hearthstone,  the  fathers  of 
babes  without  kisses,  the  lovers  of  God  without  a 
church.  (Without  a  Christ  ?  Let  none  blaspheme!) 
This  is  the  life  of  the  homeless,  I  thought.  What 
shall  be  their  future  condition,  if  one  may  guess 
from  the  face  of  that  noble  chief  who  stood  just  at 
my  side.  Once  proud,  with  uplift  of  head  like  a 
Homeric  god,  swift  and  dauntless.  So  broken 
now,  as  to  draw  pity  from  a  slave.  If  what  I  have 
just  described  be  the  life  of  the  homeless  poor 
now,  and  this  mountain  vision  be  the  condition  into 
which  we  push  them  hereafter,  what  fate  awaits 
those  whose  iron-handed  greed  pushes  les  miser- 
ables  from  their  own  into  hell  ? 

Then  I  lost  all,  even  myself.  I  was  a  toiler. 
The  rock  split  beneath  my  work-bent  body  as  I 


116  A  DUE  AM. 

arose.  I  hung  suspended  in  the  abyss.  A  voice 
came  up  on  the  vapors  of  the  pit ;  ,"  Come,  behold 
your  masters."  I  laughed,  I  hissed,  and  with 
blood-bursting  veins  of  demoniac  glee,  turned  to 
look  downward. 

But  the  long-dwelling  God-soul  in  me  drove  the 
passion  out  of  me  as  I  gazed  with  incalculable 
horror  below.  I  wept,  in  spite  of  my  cruel  pain 
through  the  years,  pitying  tears  into  the  yawning 
depths.  Aye,  I  even  prayed  that  my  tears  might 
quench  the  tormenting  flames. 

Then  once  more  I  was  a  dreamer  on  my  stone 
bed,  enwrapped  with  the  Iroquois  emotion.  Beck- 
oning to  the  bowed  chieftain  as  he  drew  near,  I 
looked  into  his  eyes  for  a  solution  of  a  deeper 
mystery  which  my  dream  within  a  dream  had  sug- 
gested. I  looked  in  vain  for  the  fire-gleam,  for  the 
roving  glance  of  distrust,  and  the.  quivering  pupil 
of  the  crouching  animal.  On  the  earth,  between 
days  of  chase  and  battle,  there  had  been  minutes 
in  his  life  of  moody  sadness  and  prostration  before 
the  breathings  of  the  Great  Spirit.  These  minutes 
had  grown  into  days  now  through  the  long  pro- 
cesses of  evolution.  And  through  the  ages  still  to 
come  these  drooping  ones,  doubtless,  would  lift 
their  heads  again  with  a  new  spirit  and  a  new 
understanding.  So  does  God  right  all  wrong,  so 
does  he  keep  his  compact  with  men  signed  into 
nature's  bond. 


A  DEEAM.  117 

Bat — and  now  dream  turned  philosophy — when 
shall  man  leave  off  damming  up  God's  currents, 
compelling  them  to  slowly  wear  their  way  through, 
when  his  real  mission  is  to  straighten  and  deepen 
the  channels,  even  as  John  cried  out  in  the  wilder- 
ness? 

Just  now  as  we  ruthlessly  rob  the  poor  and 
deprive  them  of  their  inheritance  of  the  earth  and 
its  products,  do  we  build  the  gold-dam  of  covet- 
ousness.  But  woe  to  us  who  build  our  palaces  iii 
the  valley  below!  Comparably,  Johnstown  lay  in 
the  course  of  a  mere  mountain  brook. 

While  I  thought,  a  silence  came  about,  as  when 
one  lifts  the  hands  in  prayer.  I  listened  to,  or 
rather  felt,  the  circle  of  thought  issuing  from  this 
untimely  council  which  I  would  now  have  gladly  dis- 
banded and  sent  back  beyond  the  clouds  if  I  could 
have  done  so.  But  the  signal  had  flamed  from  the 
mountain.  It  was  too  late.  I  felt  that  some  awful 
event  was  impending.  I  dared  not  guess.  I  felt 
resolution  rising  like  a  mighty  tide  out  of  the  dead 
calm  of  their  sadness.  It  rose  with  no  lashing 
lines  on  its  crest.  Not  for  revenge,  not  for  recov- 
ery, not  for  self  at  all.  The  old  conditions  had 
been  left  behind  too  long  for  these.  Something 
better,  more  indomitable,  winning.  I  knew  it  as 
soon  as  they.  I  shuddered  for  the  immediate 
consequences  of  it;  I  rejoiced  over  the  inevitable 
end.  I  seemed  to  be  impressed  with  their  own  will, 
as  I  lay  scarce  daring  to  breathe. 


118  A  DBEAJf. 

"  We  are  spirits  of  nature.  We  loved  our 
mother,  her  hills,  and  stars,  and  sun-filled  stalks 
and  pods.  We  loved  to  be  close  to  her  bosom. 
We  believed  the  simple  lodge  of  the  forest  was 
better  than  the  gilded  mansion  of  our  pale-faced 
brother.  We  still  believe  it.  Our  summit  of 
vision  beyond  the  earth-life  has  confirmed  our 
faith,  ignorant  and  physical  as  were  our  concep- 
tions then.  Great  cities,  mighty  structures,  vast 
wealth  parcelled  out,  or  kept  with  joint  stiffened 
clutch,  commercial  billions,  are  not  civilization,  are 
not  progress,  are  not  life,  are  not  happiness,  are 
not  God-winning !  They  curse  ! 

"  We  know  well  how  spirit  guides  spirit,  though 
hindered  by  flesh.  We,  here  by  Mt.  Cobble's 
signal  flame,  holy  as  was  our  Israel  fathers'  Car- 
mel-fire,  solemnly  covenant  with  the  Great  Spirit? 
Jehovah  Father,  and  with  one  another,  that  each 
shall  choose  for  himself  one  of  earth's  bravest, 
most  heroic  souls,  and  shall  be  to  it  a  constant 
fellowship,  whispering  our  nature  and  God-given 
secret  into  its  innermost  heart,  until  the  nations 
shall  learn  that  happiness,  fraternity  and  eternal 
life  alone  are  found  close  to  nature,  and,  in  that 
which  we  have  since  learned  on  yonder  high 
plains — peace." 

I  groaned  with  the  thought  of  revolution.  But 
I  exulted  in  hope  of  evolution.  I  saw  it  all,  though 
it  shook  my  soul  to  the  very  arms  of  death.  I 
lived  on  the  border  of  two  conditions  for  an  hour, 


.  119 

with  awful  indecision-.  To  enter  that  and  take  on 
new  activities,  or  remain  in  this,  and  help  turn  the 
stony  face  of  humanity  back  to  the  morning.  Can 
it  turn  ?  Is  there  any  morning  ?  Instinct  answers  : 
"  Back  to  nature."  The  Christ  answers  :  "  Up  to 
peace."  And  now  abideth  these  three :  faith, 
hope,  and  fraternity,  but  the  greatest  of  these  is 
Fraternity. 

There  are  ashes  on  Cobble  Hill,  but  is  there  not 
a  flame  in  your  soul,  my  brother  ? 


JIM'S  VICT'RY. 

THE  last,  bright-tinted  leaves  had  turned  brown 
and  ugly,  and  their  number  was  growing  less  and 
less  upon  the  more  hardy  stems  of  the  birch  and 
maple  boughs  of  the  Adirondack  forest-home 
of  one  who  shall  be  nameless  here,  as  he  was 
nameless  always  by  reason  of  excessive  modesty 
except  to  a  small  circle  of  friends  who  knew  him 
simply  because  they  lived  near  him,  and  were 
often  in  want.  The  nearly  bare  branches,  and  the 
swaying,  slender,  sappling  trees,  standing  erect  and 
defiant,  as  youthful  conceit  ever  does,  not  recog- 
nizing that  the  great-hearted  trees  generations  old 
about  them  alone  kept  them  from  snapping  in  the 
first  stiff  gale,  and  the  wind-stirred  leaves  on  the 
acorn-covered  ground  made  music  to  all  ears  but 
his,  very  unlike  that  of  spring,  when  the  first  green 
leaves  and  sprouting  stems  sing  sprightly  in  the 
warming  winds. 

To  all,  this  music  of  autumn  was  wild  and  un- 
canny, such  as  they  thought  accompanied  disem- 
bodied spirits  when  at  night  they  prowl  forth  from 
their  dust-dry  graves  in  quest  of  an  abode  where 
the  worm  cometh  not.  In  their  homes  at  night 

(120) 


JIM' 8  VIC  TRY.  121 

these  superstitious  people  shivered  and  paled  in 
spite  of  loud  laughter,  as  the  gusty  wind  swooped 
down  from  its  perch  on  the  highest  trees,  down 
through  the  seared  leaves  still  hanging  there  in 
spite  of  their  fate,  and  dancing  with  many  a  whirl 
in  the  rustling  leaves  on  the  ground.  It  never 
sobered  them,  however ;  it  merely  drove  them  far- 
ther within,  and  made  them  seek  for  amusement 
and  dissipation,  and  forgetfulness  of  their  half- 
stirred  consciences. 

Thus  the  men,  while  the  women,  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  these  ignorant  foresters,  sad  eyed  and 
lonely,  sat  apart  from  the  glee  and  sparkling 
glass,  not  conscious  of  wrong  deeds  or  thoughts, 
but  feeling  with  a  woman's  deep  intuition  that 
something  was  wrong,  yet  not  knowing  how  to 
remedy  it.  To  them  the  autumn  winds  seemed 
like  voices  from  the  great  unknown  world  of  which 
they  had  some  faint  conception,  ignorant  as  they 
were,  and  to  which  they  sometimes  offered  feeble 
prayers  in  their  distress.  To  the  mother  it  seemed 
like  the  last  wail  of  her  sick  babe  when  it  fretted 
with  pain  in  her  arms,  and  struggling,  at  last  died, 
long  before  she  knew  it  was  in  danger ;  when  she 
hud  held  it  for  hours  alone,  so  cold  that  its  icy 
hands  seemed  no  less  warm  than  when  in  health  it 
had  toyed  with  her  fingers. 

To  the  shy,  almost  speechless  girl,  just  bud- 
ding into  fair  womanhood,  the  autumn  wind  in 
the  long  evening,  as  she  sat  back  in  the  shadovrs 


122  JIM'S  VIC  T  BY. 

cast  by  the  flickering  flames  of  the  wide  fire-place, 
was  like  the  last  words  of  her  lover,  when  one 
morning  he  hurriedly  left  her  in  company  with  a 
band  of  friends  who  were  bent  on  seeing  the  new 
city  springing  up  into  prominence  some  fifty  miles 
away.  She  felt  a  dreary  presentiment  that  she 
should  never  see  him  again,  and  his  words,  "  Good 
bye,  Prue,"  she  could  hear  over  and  over  again  in 
the  sobbing  wind. 

But  he  of  whom  we  write  this  story  heard  in  the 
wind  no  such  gloom  and  misery,  nor  did  he  ever 
need  stimulant  of  any  sort  to  drive  away  its  pres- 
ence. 

To  him,  it  sang  the  same  song  that  the  spring 
sang,  in  the  same  key,  the  same  theme  ;  that  was 
the  major,  this  the  minor,  and  of  the  two  he  loved 
the  minor  more.  The  one  was  bright  and  rejoicing 
over  life  and  health,  which  had  come,  in  bud  and 
flower  and  beauty ;  the  other  was  a  song  of  trust 
to  him,  rather  than  fear.  It  seemed  to  say  :  "  The 
summer  is  gone,  the  flowers  are  dead,  but  the  soul 
is  still  alive,  and  its  God  is  about  it,  and  warming 
it  evermore.  Nature  may  blight,  the  earth  grow  cold, 
the  stars  go  out  and  the  sun  lose  its  radiance,  this 
body  perish  as  does  the  leaf,  but  God  liveth  still, 
endlessly."  It  told  him  that  under  all  these  dead 
leaves  and  in  every  black  stem  were  germs  of  life, 
now  hidden,  waiting  for  the  springtime.  That  life 
never  dies,  no  winter  kills  it ;  the  soul  is  life  ;  life 
is  God. 


JIJTS  VIC  TRY.  123 

But  there  is  a  story.  This  lover  of  nature  lived 
far  more  out  in  the  field  than  he  did  within  his 
comfortable  house,  even  in  winter,  for  he  found 
crystals  from  heaven  on  the  earth,  helpless  twigs 
held  by  a  load  of  ice  which  he  could  remove,  lame 
rabbits  and  limping  birds  to  call  his  attention  and 
care.  He  had  lived  in  this  same  spot  fprty  years. 

No  one  knew  whence  he  came.  His  hair  was 
already  white  with  the  frosts  and  snowfalls  of  sixty 
winters.  The  lines  on  his  peculiar  face  were  many 
and  deep,  but  not  such  as  fear  or  doubt  make,  nor 
remorse  ;  rather,  the  lines  of  thought  and  care. 

His  wealth  consisted  in  the  increased  value  of 
his  land  by  improvement,  chiefly  by  his  own 
hands,  and  such  little  accumulation  of  valuable 
stores  as  naturally  comes  to  one  long  busy  in  the 
same  place.  His,  the  only  well  kept  fences,  the 
only  trimmed  trees,  the  only  repaired  house  and 
barns,  and,  above  all,  his  the  only  flower  gar- 
dens in  all  that  community.  To  these,  visitors 
often  came  from  the  little  town,  springing  up  some 
miles  away.  The  mail  stage,  on  its  weekly  journey 
staid  rarely  enough  anywhere  else  than  before 
the  wide  gate  of  this  primitive  home.  But  its 
burden  was  always  much  lighter  after  stopping 
here.  So  regular  were  its  visits  that  a  rude  water- 
ing-trough had  been  constructed  by  the  huge  gate 
post,  and  always  contained  fresh  water  on  the 
morning  of  the  stage's  expected  arrival. 

In  this  ripe  autumn  time  it  was,  as  the  hermit 


124  JIM'S  VIC  THY. 

lover  of  nature  stood  ready  to  receive  his  mail  one 
Friday  morning,  that  the  driver,  as  he  whipped 
his  horses  up  to  the  trough,  upon  reaching  back 
for  the  mail-bag,  asked  hurriedly,  who  lived  in  the 
log-house  a  quarter  of  a  mile  back,  at  the  turn  in  the 
road.  "Jim  Allison,"  replied  Mr.  Armile — thus  we 
shall  name  him — "Every  one  calls  Allison,  Jim." 
"  Guess  they're  in  trouble,  the  old  woman  come 
a-runnin'  out  as  I  passed,  with  her  apron  up  to  her 
face  and  asked  me  as  I  would  please  to  tell  you  to 
come  up,  that  Jim  had  'em  agin.  I  told  her  as 
that  I  would,  and  she  bellered  louder  than  ever. 
Snaked  if  I  see  whar  the  boys  git  the  stuff  out 
here.  I'll  be  swigged  if  ever  I  bringed  'em  any." 
Mr.  Armile  looked  as  if  he  had  some  doubt  about 
this  assertion. 

The  cloud  deepened  upon  his  face  as  he  said, 
half  to  himself:  "I  had  some  hope  of  him  this 
time.  But  I  told  him  this  was  the  last ;  once 
more,  and  I  must  let  him  go  on  his  way  forever. 
Too  long  now  have  I  held  him  up  without  hope. 
But  then  I  did  have  faith  this  time.  He  talked 
differently ;  something  unusual  must  have  hap- 
pened." 

"  Well,  I  guess  there  were,"  said  the  stage  driver, 
while  he  put  up  the  reins  of  the  now  satisfied 
horses,  "  from  what  that  black  dwarf  down  at 
the  creek  said." 

"  Who  was  that  ?  Joe  Dives  ?  "  "  '  Pears  to  me 
he  did  call  himself  Dives  or  somethin'  of  the  kind." 


VIC  THY.  125 

"  Tf  he  is  here  it  is  easy  to  account  for  the  oilier, 
for  his  heart  is  blacker  than  his  face,  and  his  soul 
more  bent  than  his  ugly  body." 

"  Well,  as  to  that  I  am  not  able  to  testify ;  but 
least-ways  he  said  as  how  there  was  trouble  ahead 
for  somebody,  and  wanted  to  know  if  he  could  ride 
with  me  to  the  'line,'  and  I  told  him  he  could  fora 
dollar.  He  asked  if  I  still  druv  by  your  place.  I 
told  him  I  guessed  there  wouldn't  be  much  use  for 
me  through  here  if  I  didn't.  Said  he'd  see  a  friend 
and  overtake  me  at  the  cross-roads  if  he  decided  to 
go,  and  for  me  to  rest  here  as  long  as  I  could." 

Turning  quickly  toward  the  driver  as  the 
thought  flashed  upon  him  what  to  do,  Mr.  Armile 
asked :  "  You  have  an  official  commission,  have 
you  not,  to  arrest  anyone  who  may  molest  you,  or 
seem  suspicious,  on  your  route  ?" 

"  Yes-sir-ee ;  only  last  week  I  tuk  a  fellar  to 
Princeton  to  jail  for  skulkin'  along  inside  the 
fence,  and  lookin'  kinder  dangerous." 

"  Well,  I  want  you  to  drive  over  and  arrest  the 
dwarf,  for  he  will  be  at  the  cross  roads  ;  of  that  I 
am  sure.  Take  him  with  you  to  Princeton  and 
hand  him  over  to  the  sheriff  with  this  note.  He 
will  be  wanted  there,  I  can  assure  you,  and  I  will 
be  responsible  for  the  part  I  ask  you  to  do.  He  is 
guilty  of  enough  crimes  to  jail  him  for  life,  and 
we  have  sufficient  proofs." 

The  driver  drove  on  at  a  good  jolt,  glad  of  a 
chance  to  show  his  authority. 


126  jnrs  r 

Mr.  Arraile  hurried  down  the  road  towards  the 
humble  home  of  him  whom  his  mother  in  her 
quaint  way  had  said  to  be  in  a  drunken  fit.  He 
muttered  as  he  walked  :  "  If  I  can  only  get  the 
dwarf  out  of  here  forever,  I  can  save  half  of  these 
men.  Of  course  they  are  worth  saving.  A 
broken-winged  bird,  fluttering  on  the  ground,  its 
shining  eyes  bursting  from  its  little  head  in  its 
fright,  is  worth  saving ;  even  a  flower,  half  broken 
by  the  dashing  rain,  ought  to  have  a  friendly  hand 
and  a  prop.  Surely  a  man,  a  prince  in  this  world 
of  nature,  the  highest  of  all  life  on  the  earth — 
more  than  that,  given  a  promise  by  his  Creator 
that  this  life  is  not  cut  off,  but  goes  on  forever — 
surely  he,  when  broken-winged  or  bent  by  the 
storm,  needs  a  hand  and  a  prop !  Maybe  my 
hand  can  help  this  poor  fellow  ;  if  only  he  will 
lean  on  the  support  the  Good  Father  gives  us  all." 

At  the  close  of  these  meditations  he  found  him- 
self at  the  bend  in  the  road,  and  in  sight  of  Alli- 
son's log  house — a  home  rough  in  exterior,  and 
not  much  better  within,  with  bare  floor  and  walls, 
and  scant  furniture.  But  it  had  been  the  field  of 
as  hard  battles  as  ever  were  fought  on  the  earth. 
For  there  is  no  conflict  like  that  between  appetite 
for  strong  drink  and  a  man's  desire  to  be  worthy 
and  to  conquer.  It  had  been  an  equal  combat  up 
to  this  time.  Jim's  home,  his  aged  mother,  his 
three  motherless  babies,  his  desire  to  be  respect- 
able, the  friendship  of  Mr.  Armile,  and  a  verv 


JIM'S  VIC T BY.  127 

faint  idea  of  God  taught  by  this  one  great-hearted 
man,  who  now  crossed  his  wretched  household — 
these  on  one  side ;  and  ignorance,  superstition,  an 
aimless  life,  love  of  sport,  whisky,  Joe  Dives  the 
black  dwarf,  and  Hell,  on  the  other  side.  In  the 
last  battle  these  had  won,  and  the  defeat  was 
shameful. 

On  the  hard  couch  in  the  dimly-lighted  room  lay 
the  poor  fellow  with  his  face  to  the  wall.  Over 
him  his  aged  mother  had  thrown  an  old  coat  which 
had  served  through  many  winters ;  it  seemed  to 
cling  to  him  as  though  some  sort  of  affection  had 
grown  up  between  them  in  all  those  years  of 
mutual  hardship. 

As  the  visitor  entered,  he  tiptoed  across  the 
creaking  floor,hafin  hand,  and  sat  upon  the  low 
stool  beside  the  couch.  He  laid  his  strong  hand 
upon  the  .shoulder  of  the  sleeper.  He  moved 
under  it,  and  turning  slightly  saw  who  it  was, 
when,  with  a  groan  he  turned  back  again. 

"  Jim,  my  boy,"  came  the  warm,  mellow  voice  of 
the  forest  hermit,  "  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  down 
here.  How  did  it  all  happen,  the  old  story  again 
I  fear  ?"  Then  the  weak  man  turned  toward  the 
speaker  as  if  to  say  something. 

"  Not  now,  Jim,  you  are  not  fit  to  talk  now.  Wait 
until  to-morrow  and  then  we  will  talk  it  all  over." 

"  But,  sir,"  began  the  man  with  quivering  lips. 

"No,  not  a  word  now,  no  more  rash  promises. 
We  can  fix  it  up  to-morrow,  if  it  isn't  too  late. 


128  jnrs  vie  THY. 

Jim ,  Jim ! "  lie  almost  sobbed,  losing  for  a 
moment  his  self-control,  for  so  long  had  he  loved 
these  poor  men  of  his  community,  all  whipped  by 
appetite  as  they  were,  that  his  heart  was  as  soft 
as  a  child's.  Rough  to  look  upon,  almost  stern  in 
his  words,  nevertheless  his  soul  was  sweetly  tuned 
to  nature's  music,  and  little  children  loved  him 
more  than  their  own  fathers. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  old  mother  had  gone  out 
to  take  the  children  to  Mr.  Armile's  for  something 
to  eat,  and  to  be  away  from  the  scene,  by  his  own 
command. 

With  a  sad  shake  of  his  head,  and  placing  his 
hand  on  the  cot,  he  bent  over  that  he  might  the 
more  closely  observe  the  face  of  the  man  and  see 
how  deep  his  intoxication  had  been,  for  somehow 
he  seemed  to  be  unlike  himself.  There  was  a 
nervous  twitching,  a  restlessness  never  before 
noticed  in  him  when  recovering  from  his  stupor. 

No  sooner  had  he  done  speaking,  than  Jim 
seized  his  hand  in  his,  fairly  raising  himself  up 
on  his  other  arm,  his  eyes  burning  like  coals  of 
fire  through  the  shadows  in  the  room,  and  cried 
out :  "  Hear  me,  hear  jne,  for  God's  sake  !  It  is 
not  whiskey— can't  you  see  ?  I  am  not  drunk.  I 
have  kept  my  word  to  you.  It  has  cost  me  my 
life,"  he  gasped.  "  I  didn't  dare  tell  mother,  nor 
the  babies,  but  I  am  stabbed.  All  night  my  life- 
blood  has  been  dripping  away,  drop  at  a  time.  I 
just  prayed  one  prayer.  Let  me  live  until  the 


JIM'S  vie  TRY.  129 

only  man  in  the  world  who  loves  me  and  has 
saved  me,  can  get  here,  and  know  why  I  am 
dying.  Now  you  are  here.  I  tried  to  speak  when 
you  first  came  in,  but  my  tongue  seemed  stiff.  But 
your  sad  face  let  it  loose.  You  thought  I  had  fall- 
len  again.  I  would  not  have  died  for  all  of  that 
heaven  you  talk  about,  and  had  you  believe  me 
drunk.  I  feel  strong  with  you  here.  If  it  was  not 
for  the  great,  wet  blood-pool  under  my  side  I  be- 
lieve I  might  get  up.  It  sickens  me.  I  know  it  is 
too  late  now,  but  I  can  tell  you  how  it  was." 

Slowly  he  told  the  story :  "  Late  last  night  I 
heard  a  rap  at  the  «loor,  and  when  I  opened  it  the 
black  dwarf  came  hobbling  in.  You  know  how 
we  hate  him,  you  and  I ;  we  have  cause  to,  for  he 
has  robbed  me  of  everything.  He  seemed  fierce, 
and  before  he  had  stood  long  in  front  of  the  fire 
there,  he  asked  for  a  drink  of  whisky.  I  told  him 
I  had  none  in  the  house,  that  I  had  reformed. 
With  a  sneer  on  his  face  which  must  be  like  that 
of  the  damned,  he  hissed  between  his  teeth.  I 
was  determined  he  should  not  disturb  me.  He 
gave  me  the  lie  twice,  but  I  kept  my  temper.  He 
was  raving  by  this  time,  and  swore  he  would  have 
a  drink  or  he  would  burn  me  out.  Just  then  Nel- 
lie came  up  to  me  for  something,  and  before  I 
could  see  or  think  he  had  her  by  her  little  thin 
arms,  shaking  her  till  she  lost  her  breath. 

'"Tell  me,  you  little  white-faced  witch,  where 
the  whisky  is.  Tell  me,  or  I'll  kill  you.' 


130  JUTS  VIC  T  BY. 

"  She  looked  like  an  angel,  sir.  She  never  trem- 
bled or  nothing,  but  looked  straight  at  him.  She 
was  always  afraid  of  him  before.  She  said  :  '  My 
father  don't  drink  any  more  since  Mr.  Armile — ' 
and,  sir,  your  name  seemed  to  make  him  crazy,  for 
he  lifted  her  in  his  little  iron  arms,  and  whirled 
with  her  toward  the  blazing  fire-place.  Like  the 
wind  I  was  at  his  side  and  undid  his  hands,  and 
carried  her,  sobbing,  to  the  cot  here,  and  as  I 
bent  over  to  lay  her  down,  wondering  what  I  should 
do  with  the  wretch,  I  felt  something  in  my  side, 
first  cold,  and  I  shivered,  then  hot,  and  I  fairly 
burned  with  fever.  I  fell  beside  the  child,  while 
he  escaped  through  the  door.  She  put  her  arms 
about  me  and  said,  '  Father,  are  you  hurt  ?'  I  told 
her  no,  that  I  felt  a  little  sick,  and  would  rest 
awhile.  Soon  mother  come  in  from  the  neighbor's 
with  the  other  children.  I  told  them  I  was  not 
well,  but  all  the  while  I  could  feel  the  hot  blood 
settling  about  my  flesh.  And  this  morning  when 
I  looked  at  Nellie's  hands  I  saw  blood  on  one  of 
them.  Her  father's  blood,  made  by  whisky ! 
Child  of  woe  !  Oh,  the  night,  the  blood !" 

Mr.  Armile  saw  that  the  fever  was  raging  high 
now,  and  that  the  poor  man's  brain  was  crazed. 
He  checked  him,  and  keeping  down  the  great, 
choking  sobs  that  would  swell  up  in  his  throat  in 
spite  of  himself,  he  took  the  dying  man's  hand, 
and  soothed  him  as  best  he  could. 

He  grew  calmer  soon,  but  was  so  weak  he  could 


JIM'S  VIC  THY.  131 

only  pant ;  lie  had  outdone  himself.  "  Tell  me  the 
story  you  told  me  one  day,"  he  whispered,  "  out  in 
the  great  woods.  You  had  a  flower;  it  was  losing 
its  leaves ;  you  said  it  was  dying  for  others  like 
itself,  but  Jesus  died  for  men  who  hated  Him. 
Tell  me  again.  I  never  hated  Him,  but  I  didn't 
know  Him.  I  knew  you,  I  loved  you,  I  did  what 
you  told  me ;  and  now,  tell  me,  where  will  I  be, 
and  who  will  be  there  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  great  man  of  nature,  "  I  told 
you  of  the  flower.  It  died  when  its  time  came  to 
drop  its  seed.  But  Jesus,  who  loved  men  more 
than  I  have  loved  you,  was  nailed  to  the  death- 
tree  until  He  died.  His  great  heart  broke,  Jim, 
broke.  He  shed  His  blood  ;  you  have  shed  yours 
for  your  Nellie,  and  for  all  these  neighbors  of 
yours,  for  they  will  curse  whiskey  forever  when 
they  stand  at  your  grave.  But  these  were  your 
companions.  Jesus  shed  His  blood  for  the  very 
men  who  murdered  Him.  He  spreads  His  hands 
above  every  head  that  bows  in  the  whole  world. 

"You  have  fought  a  noble  fight,  the  best  I  ever 
knew.  You  had  nobody  but  me  to  hold  you  up, 
but  you  fought  it  through.  It  has  cost  you  your 
life  here,  but,  Jim,  not  your  life  up  yonder." 

"  Will  the  flower  live  again  ?"  he  whispered. 

"  I  believe  so,  Jim,  but  I  know  you  will,  and 
forever." 

"Yes,  yes,"  murmured  the  fast-dying  man. 
"  Bessie, — she  died  last  year, — for  me, — when  I 


132  JIM'S  VIC  TRY. 

was  mad  with  whisky  ;  she  will  be  there  ;  Bessie, 
— I  married  her, — almost  a  girl ;  she  did  her  best. 
'Pears  to  me — I  hear  her ;  Bessie, — Bessie, — is — 
that  you  ?" 

And  clutching  the  great  brown  hand  of  his  only 
friend  on  earth,  he  shivered  and  died.  His  body 
was  ice,  but  on  his  face  played  a  smile  as  warm 
as  a  sunbeam  and  so  peaceful  that  when  his  old 
comrade  looked  upon  his  face  at  the  grave,  he  said 
aloud:  "Jim  whipped  that  time;  I  can  see  the 
smile  of  vie  fry  on  his  face." 

Twenty  strong  men,  with  wet  eyes  and  shaky 
hands,  put  their  mark  over  their  names  as  Mr. 
Armile  wrote  them  under  the  pledge,  beside  that 
new  grave. 

So  in  a  forsaken  region,  with  no  church,  no 
teacher,  scarcely  a  Bible  within  its  borders,  twen- 
ty-one ignorant,  careless  men  were  saved  from 
awful  death  by  one  man. 

Long  did  Mr.  Armile  stand  out  in  the  open  field, 
the  night  after  the  burial.  He  felt  not  the  increas- 
ing chill  in  the  night  air,  but  leaning  against  a 
kingly  hemlock,  he  looked  up  through  its  moving 
branches  at  a  bright  star  in  the  measureless  space 
above.  The  swaying  boughs  moved  to  and  fro  as 
if  trying  to  hide  the  star  from  him,  but  always  he 
saw  it.  So  it  seemed,  our  sorrows,  our  woes,  our 
very  sins,  swing  between  us  and  the  Christ,  as  if 
trying  to  hide  Him  from  us,  but  always  through 
them  all  we  see  Him  still,  brighter  and  brighter. 


jnrs  vie  THY.  133 

In  the  warm  southern  room  of  his  own  home  that 
night,  the  autumn  winds  sang  three  motherless, 
fatherless  babies  to  sleep.  Fatherless  no  more," 
for  the  great  Father  had  given  them  a  guardian, 
and  that  guardian,  the  lover  of  the  stars,  and  the 
great  nature-world  around  him,  soon  after  fell  into 
happy  sleep,  while  the  wind,  like  some  great 
winged  angel  of  glory  from  the  distant  mountains, 
and  as  if  guarding  him,  sang  all  the  night  long, 
"  Peace,  peace,  everlasting  peace." 


"AUNT  MODGIE." 

IT  happens,  now  and  then,  that  where  one  least 
expects  it,  is  to  be  found  the  most  beautiful  bit  of 
scenery,  in  both  nature  and  humanity. 

Not  far  from  Cedar  Rapids,  as  one  climbs  un- 
adorned hills  and  is  satiated  with  unchanging 
fields,  he  suddenly  looks  from  a  hill  summit  down 
upon  as  beautiful  a  valley  as  the  sun  ever  shone 
into.  Especially  is  this  beauty  remarkable  if  it  be 
looked  upon  in  the  month  when  the  gold  begins  to 
gleam  on  the  green  of  the  grain  and  the  meadow. 

Strange  that  in  prosaic  Iowa  a  gem  from  poetic 
Italy  should  have  hid  itself  through  all  these  years, 
a  stranger  from  its  nature-loved  home,  where  the 
skies  'are  never  brazen,  nor  the  climate  cruel. 

The  depth  of  this  valley  is  almost  cavernous. 
The  shadows  of  the  great  hills  round  about  fall 
into  it  like  the  presence  of  slumbering  giants, 
while  the  shifting  lights  and  shades  on  the  hills 
themselves  are  full  of  motion,  made  by  the  turning 
leaves — now  dark  green,  now  lighter,  as  the  winds 
reverse  them ;  or  still  more  marked  by  the  over- 
shadowing sweep  of  some  pilgrim  cloud,  which, 
straying  from  a  great  cloud  convention  in  the  West, 

(134) 


1 '  A  UNT  MOD  GIE: '  135 

dares  to  brave  the  sun  all  alone,  eclipsing  it  sec- 
tion by  section. 

A  path  winds  in  from  the  main  road,  and  follows 
the  curve  of  the  brook  until  it  is  lost  in  the  broad 
porch  which  alone  marks  the  front  of  an  old  brick 
house.  Its  one  story  and  a  half  took  on  shape 
some  half  century  ago,  when,  doubtless,  its  mag- 
nificent pile  of  brick  and  walnut  stood  as  a  mon- 
ument of  pride  and  "  bigishness,"  in  the  eyes  of 
envious  neighbors,  who  were  wont  to  say  their 
unselfish  prayers  beneath  the  "  clapboard  "  roofs 
of  palaces,  whose  strength  was  the  heart  of  their 
oak  logs.  An  ugly  house,  and  standing  out  upon 
a  plain  of  sand  and  weeds,  would  have  no  sugges- 
tion of  home-likeness ;  but  in  the  center  of  this 
valley,  it  seemed  also  the  center  of  life,  about 
which  all  these  moving  beauties  of  brook,  and 
path,  and  hill,  and  leafy  tree,  revolved. 

The  red  bricks  sent  their  color  thrill  far  out  into 
the  shadows  and  the  subdued  colors  of  the  valley, 
until  it  carne  to  be  at  last  like  the  song  a  great 
singer  sings,  which  animates  all  the  silent  ones, 
until  to  the  listener  every  one  seems  to  sing,  even 
himself.  So,  this  bit  of  red  colored  with  a  living 
glow  all  the  somber  darkness  of  its  surroundings. 
Thus  that  which  alone  would  be  unattractive,  when 
fulfilling  its  mission,  in  its  place,  grew  strangely 
beautiful.  Has  this  no  analogy  in  the  life  which 
is  human  ? 

One  would  expect,  under  the  spell  of  this  valley's 


136  "  A UNT  XODGIE." 

charms,  an  ideal  life  must  be  found.  Happy  the 
controlling  life  which  rules  in  the  old  red  house, 
moulded  day  after  day  by  the  influence  of  the 
mystic  hills  !  Surely,  thinks  the  poet,  to  look  up 
to  those  towering  summits  morning  and  night, 
wondering  what  lies  beyond  them,  studying  their 
whisperings  and  sighings,  or  their  moody  silence — 
surely,  a  perfect  life  might  find  the  end  of  its 
development  here. 

But  let  us  see.  We  will  follow  the  path,  and 
resisting  the  whispered  entreaties  of  the  rippling 
brook,  continue,  until  we  near  the  house  undis- 
covered. 

"  Saliny,  Saliny,"  wails  a  peevish  voice,  heard 
distinctly  through  the  open  window;  "where  are 
ye  ?  You  do  beat  all  to  git  away  where  no  one 
can  find  ye  :  come  here."  No  answer. 

"  I'll  be  bound  she's  gone  down  to  that  brook 
agin  ;  I  never  seed  sich  a  gal.  These  yer  four  walls 
is  no  home  fer  her,  no  more  than  if  they  want 
here;  deed,  I  do  believe  she  wishes  they  were 
pulled  down.  The  pesky  woods  and  hills  are  Tier 
home.  If  it  want  for  me  she  would  never  come 
home  except  to  sleep.  It  is  kinder  hard  for  the 
poor  thing  to  hev  to  wait  on  me  so  much,  but  sick 
folks  is  sick  folks,  and  ye  hev  to  wait  on  them  or 
they'll  die,  and  if  I  don't  git  helped  in  a  minute, 
die  I  shall ;  Saliny !  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  coming." 

"Ye   are  always  comin',   I  wish  ye'd   git  here 


' '  A  UNT  MOD  GIE. ' '  137 

once  ill  a  while ;  my  back  is  nearly  broke  in  two, 
layin'  here  waitin*  to  be  turned;  now  do  be  easy." 

She  was  easy;  not  by  reason  of  a  strong  form,  or 
well  developed  muscle,  but  because  of  that  grace 
and  skill  which  so  often  accompany  the  lithe  and 
delicate  body.  She  wasted  no  strength,  made  no 
awkward  movements  ;  there  was  no  half-lifting, 
and  then  a  sudden  laying  down  for  a  renewal  of 
strength.  She  knew  just  how  to  lift  the  almost 
helpless  body  of  "Aunt  Modgie,"  as  she  always 
called  her.  Not  a  very  appropriate  name,  to  be 
sure ;  but  the  one  she  had  lived  by,  and  she  said 
it  was  "  good  enough  to  die  by." 

They  were  in  no  way  related,  these  two  women. 
The  younger  had  been  adopted  by  the  elder,  when 
she  was  four  years  old,  out  of  an  Orphans'  Home, 
in  the  city  near  by,  "for  better  or  for  worse,"  as 
she  said,  when  she  took  her,  mistaking  the  occa- 
sion, doubtless,  for  the  one  she  in  her  lonely 
spinsterhood  had  long  been  secretly  longing  for. 
But  that  was  not  to  be;  in  the  glory  and  strength 
of  her  youth  she  had  loved  with  her  whole  heart, 
but  her  hero  had  gone  away  without  a  word  of 
warning,  and  she  had  never  again  seen  him.  For 
a  long  time  she  had  waited,  looking  down  this 
same  winding  path.  Often  in  the  shadows  of 
evening  she  thought  she  saw  his  familiar  form, 
and  often  she  awoke  from  her  dreams  with  his 
step  ringing  in  her  ears. 

She  and  her  brother  had  kept  the  little  valley 


138  "  AUNT  MODGIE." 

place,  until  at  last  he  had  died.  She  had  hardly 
righted  the  house  after  the  funeral,  until  she  had 
determined  what  to  do.  "  I  cannot  live  alone — I 
could  live  all  alone,  but  I  arn  not  alone  now  any 
more ;  some  one  is  always  near  me.  But  I  am  a 
hundred  times  lonesomer  than  if  he  was  not  always 
comin'  back  to  me.  I  must  have  some  one  here 
who  will  take  up  my  attention.  No  one  of  my 
own  age  can  do  that ;  nothin'  will  do  it  but  a  sick 
person,  or  a  baby.  They  say  the  'sylum  is  very 
full  this  season.  I  believe  I  will  look  'em  over.  I 
would  ruther  have  a  sickly  one  if  only  it  wouldn't 
die  ;  but  I'll  see." 

Her  untrained  mother -heart  sobbed,  and  sob- 
bed again,  as  she  looked  upon  that  multitude 
of  motherless  waifs  at  the  asylum,  cared  for  by 
the  matrons  of  the  home,  but  motherless  still!  No 
great  thrill  of  child-life  would  ever  set  their  hearts 
quivering  with  affection.  So  soon  they  must  make 
way  for  others  and  step  out  into  what  paths,  what 
ways,  into  what  struggles,  what  destinies  !  She 
silently  wept  as  she  thought  of  it. 

She  wanted  to  take  half  a  dozen  of  the  puniest 
and  palest  ones,  and  had  nearly  decided  to  do  so, 
when  the  fierce  pain  in  her  breast,  stinging  for  a 
moment,  repeated  its  old  warning.  She  might  be 
more  helpless  than  they  before  many  years,  and 
she  ought  not  to  make  so  many  lives  dependent 
upon  her  without  being  able  to  carry  them 
through. 


"AUNT  NODGIE."  139 

As  she  looked,  a  little,  frail  thing,  in  the  arms 
of  an  older  child,  let  its  nodding  head  fall  back 
against  the  bosom  of  its  little  nurse.  The  day 
was  warm,  and  it  had  been  too  severe  a  trial  to 
bring  it  from  its  half-finished  sleep.  She  had 
noticed  its  eyes  fixed  upon  her  when  first  she  had 
entered,  and  had  instantly  felt  drawn  towards  it. 
Some  familiar  look,  some  half-forgotten,  nameless 
wistfulness  in  its  eyes,  seemed  to  speak  to  her, 
until  her  heart  had  been  stirred,  as  we  have  seen, 
to  be  a  mother  to  all  these  waifs  if  only  she  might 
be  able. 

"  Let  me  take  her  and  rest  you,"  she  said  to  the 
•child,  who  gladly  gave  her  up  from  her  aching 
arms.  "  How  light  she  is,  poor  thing  !  Are  her 
parents  both  dead  ?" 

"  We  think  so,"  replied  the  matron  ;  "  we  know 
her  mother  to  be  dead.  Her  father  came  with  her 
here,  and  said  he  would  return,  but  he  has  never 
done  so.  He  looked  very  strange-like,  and  seemed 
rather  unsettled  in  his  mind.  He  was  very  poor, 
and  looked  like  he  had  eaten  nothing  for  two  or 
three  days.  The  child  has  his  eyes,  with  the  same 
wistful  look  in  them." 

"  Bid  you  see  the  mother  ?"  she  asked. 

"We  only  saw  her  in  her  coffin,"  said  the 
matron.  "She  was  large,  and  rather  coarse-fea- 
tured, with  the  mouth  firmly  set.  They  say  her 
hands  were  clinched  when  she  died,  and  no  one 
could  open  them.  The  child  had  this  little  locket 


140  "AUNT  MODGIE." 

and  chain  about  her  neck  when  she  was  brought 
here.     In  it  is  a  picture  of  her  father." 

"  May  I  see  it  ?"  She  half  dreaded  to  look  at  it 
for  some  reason,  but  she  opened  it  bravely.  Sure 
enough,  the  presentiment  which  had  swept  over 
her  a  moment  before  was  verified.  She  had  worn 
the  locket  many  a  time  herself.  It  was  the  face  of 
him  who  had  gone  from  her,  but  kept  coming  back 
to  her  memory  and  in  her  dreams. 

She  understood  it  all  now.  He  had  spoken  once 
of  a  woman  whom  he  had  met  in  his  boyhood, 
who  held  a  strange  spell  over  him.  He  told  her 
he  had  vowed  never  to  see  her  again.  She  knew 
now  that  he  had  seen  her  again ;  that  she  had* 
followed  him,  and  he  had  at  last  given  up  the 
struggle  and  gone  with  her  in  spite  of  his  nobler 
love.  She  had  married  him,  and  this  was  their 
child.  The  mother  was  dead,  perhaps  the  father. 
The  child  was  unmistakably  like  its  father.  She 
must  take  it,  and  in  her  love  for  it,  hide  some  of 
her  awful  pain,  for  the  wound  was  throbbing 
again  and  breaking  under  this  new  pressure. 

So  home  with  her,  and  close  in  her  arms  all  the 
way,  had  gone  the  baby  with  the  beautiful  eyes. 
Through  the  years  these  two  lives  had  come  up  high- 
er and  higher,  almost  out  of  the  valley  to  the  very 
hills.  The  child  lost  its  frailness  and  pallor,  and 
took  on  the  glow  and%  strength  of  the  woods  and 
the  flowers.  Her  voice  was  tuned  to  the  music  of 
the  birds  and  brook. 


"AUNT  MODGIE."  141 

Yet  there  were  discords  and  surprises.  The 
child  caught  a  certain  waywardness  from  nature; 
stormy,  moody,  almost  violent  at  times;  but  love 
and  tenderness  always  soothed  her,  and  when  her 
returning  calmness  re-assumed  control,  she  fled 
always  to  the  hills  for  penitence,  not  returning 
until  the  smiles  played  through  her  tears,  as  the 
refreshed  flowers  after  a  heavy  rain  nod  beneath 
their  pearly  crowns. 

She  was  loyal  to  "Aunt  Modgie,"  and  shirked  no 
duty  which  love  could  prompt. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  great  changes  had  come 
upon  "Aunt  Modgie."  The  pain  had  come  andgone, 
until  she  had  begun  to  expect  it  at  regular  inter- 
vals. At  last,  after  a  sharp  attack  of  lung  fever, 
during  one  long-remembered,  damp  winter,  it  came 
to  stay.  Her  very  voice  grew  hollow  with  the  sound 
of  disease.  The  hands,  once  so  soothing,  were  nerv- 
ous and  quick,  and  seemed  sometimes  almost  to 
sting  when  they  meant  to  caress.  Where  it  had 
been  her  wont  to  entreat  Salina — for  she  had  chris- 
tened her  thus  at  adoption — she  now  commanded. 
This  had  come  about  gradually,  just  as  the  help- 
lessness had  grown,  scarcely  perceptibly. 

But  the  stoop  in  Salina's  shoulders  was  more 
marked,  while  an  old  look  of  many  years  had 
come  into  her  eyes. 

The  hills  and  the  brook  were  still  her  delight, 
and  at  times  her  only  comfort.  The  ravine  that 
led  from  the  brook  up  into  the  hills  seemed  now, 


142  "AUNT  aiOD&IE." 

more  and  more,  like  an  entrance  into  the  presence 
of  the  Infinite,  and  in  those  long,  silent  commun- 
ions she  found  a  gracious  strength. 

Struggles  like  the  battles  of  armed  hosts,  equal 
in  strength  and  number,  came  to  those  two  lonely 
women.  The  one  with  the  dreams  of  youth  full 
upon  her,  longing  to  see  the  great  world,  half 
doubting  sometimes  between  it  and  her  afflicted 
benefactor;  for  this  her  only  home  was,  she  knew, 
the  gift  of  this  lonely  woman.  To  the  elder,  in 
the  impatience  of  pain  arid  unrest,  came  the  old 
fight.  Was  God  merciful  ?  So  long  had  she 
waited,  so  hard  had  she  tried  to  forget  the  father 
in  the  child,  and  yet  felt-  the  defeat,  as  only  her 
aching  heart  could  know!  To-day  she  had  deter- 
mined Salina  should  know  the  story  of  her  birth, 
and  their  relation  to  each  other.  The  peevishness 
with  which  she  summoned  her  upon  the  morning 
of  which  this  story  speaks  was  by  no  loss  of  love, 
but  because  of  the  nervousness  and  weakness  of 
one  who,  though  long  sick,  undertakes  a  great  task. 

"Come  closer  to  me,  dear,  I  hev  somethin'  to 
tell  you.  I  do  this  because  I  feel  the  mornin'  is 
dawnin'  over  the  hills  at  last,  and  the  shadows  of 
the  valley  are  a-liftin'.  Now  you  must  not  say  a 
word  until  I  am  done.  Take  this  little  locket; 
you  have  wondered  why  I  looked  at  it  so  often, 
oftener  than  you  did,  even.  But  I  hev  never  looked 
at  it  without  lookin'  at  you,  too.  There  is  a  great 
secret  here,  and  you  must  know  it.  Saliny,  my 


' '  A  UNT  HOD  GIE. ' '  143 

child,  these  eyes  of  your  father's,  so  like  your 
own,  were  mine  once,  and  were  like  the  stars  of 
the  night  to  one  lost.  They  looked  down  into  my 
soul,  and  I  loved  him.  No,  wait  a  moment;  I  want 
to  tell  you  all." 

Then  she  told  her  all  she  knew  of  his  life,  his 
temptation  and  weakness,  and  how  she  hoped  that 
he  still  lived. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Modgie,"  Salina  sobbed,  as  she  clung 
to  her,  "  why  did  you  not  tell  me  years  ago  ?  Oh, 
the  bitter  words  I  have  said  to  you,  the  many 
times  I  have  neglected  you,  and  your  heart  .so  full 
of  pain!  How  can  I  live  and  know  you  have  suf- 
fered so  much,  and  that  I  might  have  helped  you 
infinitely  more  than  I  did  ?"  ^ 

"  Be  still,  child,  you  know  not  what  you  say. 
Between  the  storms  of  my  life  there  hev  been 
calms  without  number,  hours  when  I  was  positive- 
ly happy  a-carin'  for  you.  Long  ago  I  would  hev 
died,  had  it  not  been  for  you,  and  died,  Saiiny, 
worst  of  all,  a-hatin'  God  ;  but  you  hev  carried  me 
to  the  hills  yonder  so  often,  that  I  found  the  great 
heart  of  the  Father  at  last,  and  it's  all  like  a  sea, 
Saiiny,  a  mighty  sea  of  peace.  I'm  lookin'  for  the 
dawn  yonder.  See,  its  faint  glimmerin's  a-peepin' 
over  the  old  hills  in  the  east !  The  day  is  a'most 
here.  I  must  sleep  once  more,  and  then  I  will  not 
be  tired  when  the  day  comes.  Wake  me  when 
the  night  is  all  gone.  Just  one  word,  dear  child — 


144  "  A  UNT  MOD  GIE. ' ' 

find  your  father,  if  lie  is  alive  ;  save  him  as  you 
have  me  ;  he  needs  you." 

Long  into  the  morning  the  feverish  young 
woman,  now  so  pitifully  undone,  lay  with  her  head 
on  the  bed,  with  one  hand  outstretched,  groping 
now  and  then  for  the  fingers  that  each  time  she 
felt  them,  grew  colder  and  stiffer.  Once  they 
stirred  with  a  quivering  of  the  body,  in  which  a 
whisper  seemed  to  be  half  formed — "  the  dawn, 
the  mornin'  " — and  then  the  night  was  all  gone. : 

By  some  strange  volition,  the  morning  of  the 
next  day  a  stranger  came  slowly  up  the  path  to 
the  house.  He  was  stooped  and  gray  ;  his  face 
curved  with  pain  and  wistful  longing.  From  his 
eyes  all  the  hope  had  gone  out  long  ago.  Came, 
he  knew  not  why,  unless  it  was  to  look  at  the  old 
brick  house  once  more, — and  die,  for  his  life  had 
been  a  struggle  without  end,  without  hope.  He 
had  no  thought  of  going  in  ;  no  thought  of  being 
recognized,  for  the  face  of  the  man  was  not  like  the 
face  in  the  locket ;  by  days  of  sorrow,  penitence 
and  age  his  old  strength  and  beauty  were  almost 
gone. 

But  there  was  crape  on  the  door,  the  scent  of 
heliotrope  came  through  the  open  windows,  and  a 
silence  held  the  place  like  that  which  death  alone 
makes. 

He  scarcely  knew  what  he  did.  He  was  in  the 
room  in  an  instant ;  for  the  first  time  in  all  the 
long  years  since  they  parted,  he  wept.  Such  tears 


" AUNT  MODGIE."  145 

as  no  mother  ever  weeps  over  her  dead  boy,  or  a 
child  over  a  mother's  death-face  ;  tears  of  heart's 
love  and  heart's  pain  distilled  through  years  of 
sorrow  and  care  for  this  one  hour. 

If  his  face  told  not  the  secret,  his  tears  did  ;  and 
told  it  to  her  who  alone  was  watching  with  her 
dead.  She  waited,  half  alarmed,  until  the  first 
burst  of  grief  was  over,  then  throwing  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  she  pressed  her  lips  to  his  wrin- 
kled forehead  and  almost  sobbed  into  his  ears, 
"  Father,  father,  I  have  loved  her,  too,  ever  since 
she  took  me,  a  baby,  to  be  her  own." 

Too  sacred  for  utterance  are  some  heart-com- 
munions— such  were  these.  The  father  had  never  ex- 
pected to  see  her  again.  To  him  she  had  been  the 
scar  of  his  weakness  and  almost  crime.  But  now 
he  was  sanctified  by  the  love  of  these  two  women, 
the  living  dead,  the  dead  alive,  both  of  whom  he 
had  wronged. 

The  clinging  girl  had  his  heart  instantly.  She 
gave  new  life  to  him,  and  healed  his  wounded 
spirit,  revived  his  dead  faith  in  God,  and  set  flow- 
ing again  the  currents  of  a  life  long  stagnant,  more 
powerful  in  its  energies,  more  wonderful  in  its 
strength  to  do  good  to  men  by  reason  of  its  weak- 
ness and  cross.  Together  they  prospered;  fed, 
clothed,  and  made  homes  for  hundreds  .of  poor 
waifs. 

Father  and  daughter,  victims  of  error,  restored 
10 


146  "AUNT  MODGIE." 

by  tears  and  suffering,  came  into  a  saving  fellow- 
ship with  men  on  earth,  and  into  a  blessed  immor- 
tality. 


JOHN  BROWN. 


(WRITTEN  AT  JOHN  BROWN'S  GRAVE  IN  THE  ADIRONDACK^, 
JULY  17TH,  1892.) 


MAECY  holds  no  firmer  place  along  the  silent 
Adirondack  guard 

Thau  Thou,  rough-hewn  old  Chieftain,  'mong  those 
who  for  liberty  have  dared. 

Thy  dust,  rock-held  by  Placid's  copious  deeps  with. 

songs  of  pines  for  requiem  of  state, 
Is  no  securer  kept,  than  in  the  hearts  of  patriots,  thy 

valors  great. 

Here  amid  thy  farmer  friends  thou  taughtst  the 
weakling  grain  'twixt  bruising  rocks  to  grow;  — 

The  teacher  since  of  weakling  souls,  o'er-topping 
Fate,  their  powers  to  know. 

Thou  clay-marked  son  of  earth,  I  wonder  what  divine 
emanations  filled  thy  toil-bent  form, 

Till  riding  over  hatreds  dire,  like  fire-charged,  cleans- 
ing storm, 

Foes  like  forests  fell;  and  dammed  up  streams  of 
ancient,  stagnant,  love  of  self  were  burst, 

And  love  of  men,  aye,  slaved  and  famished  men,  and 
suff'ring  Christ  were  first. 

*  *  *  *  #  #'*  * 

Oh,  Pentecostal  Christ,  quick-wing  another  dauntless 

soul  to  storm  the  citadel  of  caste, 
Till  slaves  and  kings  of  Toil  alike  the  Patmos  dream 

shall  see  at  last. 

(147) 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

"Is  THAT  really  a  tally-ho?" 

"  Well,  it  has  that  appearance  ;  part  tally-ho, 
part  horse  ;  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen — " 

"  How  in  the  wide  world  does  one  get  up  ?" 

"You  will  find  the  world  wider  than  you  have 
dreamed  when  once  you  are  up  and  going.  So 
very  wide,  I  fear  that  you  may  try  to  fill  two 
places  at  the  same  time  with  that  sprightly  little 
body  of  yours." 

"  No  matter.  I  shall  have  one  tally-ho  lark  if  I 
occupy  three  places  at  one  time." 

It  was  at  Westport.  It  was  their  first  experience 
with  mountains.  Like  the  amateur  tourists  they 
were,  they  had  decided  to  follow  the  guide-book, 
simply  because  there  was  nothing  else  to  follow. 
They  bought  their  tickets  to  Westport,  and  not 
somewhere  else,  for  the  sole  reason  that  "  it  was 
the  entrance  to  the  gateway  of  the  Adirondacks." 
Adrian  Winake  had  been  a  college  man  through 
four  or  five  indifferent  years,  at  a  quiet  western 
school,  with  a  diversified  record  between  the  ex- 
tremes of  "  remarkable  brilliancy,"  and  "logging," 
a  western  term  for  "playing"  the  professors. 

(148) 


A  DOUBLE  HE  DELATION.  149 

He  had  learned  one  valuable  lesson  not  in  the 
text :  To  assume  knowledge  where  the  effort  is 
not  too  great,  ani  the  ends  to  be  gained  consider- 
able. Hence  his  wise  remark  upon,  the  tally-ho. 
The  effort  of  saying  it  was  not  great,  the  end  to  be 
gained,  to  make  a  passing  impression  upon  this 
rather  vivacious  young  lady,  his  friend's  sister, 
who  had  been  entrusted  to  his  care  as  far  as  Eliza- 
bethtown.  Here  Hoi  well  Berkeley  would  join  them 
within  a  week  from  ^Tew  York,  having  prolonged 
his  stay  there  in  business  engagements. 

Leona  Berkeley  was  a  typical  young  western 
girl.  She  was  full  of  curiosity,  a  bright,  quizzical, 
healthy  curiosity,  not  the  common  sort,  inherited 
from  abandoned  paradise.  Generous,  sometimes 
to  indiscretion,  wholly  and  almost  absurdly  inno- 
cent. A  little  knowledge  of  Greek  and  Analytics 
had  given  her,  she  imagined,  keys  to  every  closed 
door  of  intellectual  attainment.  She  was  not  slow 
to  try  them,  either.  A  few  had  proved  rusty  and 
rebellious.  She  had  not  found  fault  with  her  keys, 
however.  Withal,  an  entertaining,  thoroughly 
good  young  lady,  and  with  a  much  wider  horizon 
than  one  would  have  at  first  supposed.  That  one 
is  much  concerned  about  the  pebbles  or  flowers  at 
his  feet,  does  not  always  indicate  that  he  has  not 
discovered  any  heights,  or  looked  far,  this  way  and 
that. 

Full  of  chatter  about  little  things,  of  quick 
repartee  and  smiles,  assuming  innocence  for  effect, 


150  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

half  pouting  when  you  took  her  too  seriously, 
gently  kind  to  your  faults,  and  soothing  to  your 
little  heart-aches,  confidential,  but  with  an  invio- 
lable reserve  when  she  imagined  you  were  becom- 
ing too  sentimental — such  a  wide-awake  sight-seer 
was  Leona  Berkeley. 

She  took  in  everthing  rapidly,  vividly.  No 
kodak's  delicate  film  ever  took  or  held  quicker  or 
more  natural  impressions  of  the  sunlit  world.  She 
caught  the  edges  of  things.  The  striking,  the  par- 
ticular, was  always  pleasing  or  alarming  her. 
Winake  had  noted  the  depot,  the  hurrying  crowd, 
the  distant,  first  slopes  of  the  hills,  all  in  one 
sweeping  glance.  She  saw  only  the  idol  of  her 
dreams  for  weeks — the  tally-ho  with  its  six  creamy 
horses.  Trunk  checks,  inquiries  as  to  route,  time 
of  destination, — these  might  concern  more  sordid 
minds,  but  the  top  of  the  coach  was  her  ultima 
thule.  She  fairly  clapped  her  hands,  unmindful 
of  the  attention  she  drew,  when,  having  climbed 
the  stumpy  little  ladder,  she  sat  perched  upon  the 
last  and  highest  seat. 

The  first  range  of  hills  set  her  wild,  not  by  their 
loftiness,  for  they  were  not  very  high,  but  by  their 
outline,  their  depths  of  green  and  encircling  near- 
ness. Changing  her  mood,  she  grew  dreamy, 
almost  sad,  when  looking  back,  she  saw  the  glis- 
tening waves  of  Lake  Champlain  and  the  mist- 
darkened  Green  Mountains  beyond.  She  was  get- 
ting her  first  impressions  of  new  space  relations. 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  151 

Her  emotion  is  a  common  one.  The  desire  to  be  at 
some  hazily  distant  cliff  or  peak,  the  impulse  to 
start  at  once, — it  cannot  be  far,  you  think, — then 
the  baffling  after- thought  of  the  miles  of  wearying 
way,  indeed  the  utter  impossibility  of  attaining  it ; 
a  whole  life  of  yearning  and  struggle  and  surren- 
der, has  its  miniature  in  that  first  emotion  spring- 
ing from  the  mountain  horizon. 

When  at  last  the  eight  miles  between  Westport 
and  Elizabethtown  were  nearly  finished,  and  she 
had  shouted  question  after  question  down  to  the 
rather  reticent  driver,  Raven  Hill,  with  its  black 
wings  darker  than  ever,  just  then  under  a  raven 
cloud-shadow,  loomed  up  before  her,  and  then 
further  on,  emerging  from  a  sinuous  alder-sheltered 
mile,  she  saw  Pleasant  Valley  spreading  like  a  lit- 
tle world  before  them,  river,  fields  of  daisies  and 
grain,  village  and  all,  this  prairie-visioned  girl,  for 
the  first  time  since  she  had  left  New  York  City, 
was  speechless. 

"Elizabethtown!"  shouted  the  driver  with  a 
crack  of  the  whip,  as  the  coach  rolled  down  and 
around  the  declining  slopes,  thundering  across  the 
bridge  of  songful  little  Bouquet  Eiver,  halting 
with  a  grand  flourish  at  the  post-office  in  the 
valley. 

"  When,  pray,  do  they  find  time  to  read  letters, 
much  less  write  them  here  ?  I  wouldn't  want  to  be 
disturbed,  not  even  by  the  shortest  telegram." 

"Suppose  Holwell   should  be   prevented    from 


152  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

meeting  us  here,  you  would  want  to  know — " 

"Stop,  Mr.  Winake.  I  won't  even  think  anything 
that  is  in  discord  with  this  place." 

"Don't  you  suppose  people  ever  sin  or  die  here  ? 
Didn't  you  notice  the  graveyard  a  mile  or  so 
back  ?" 

"  When  did  you  take  your  Bachelor  of  Divinity 
degree?  Don't  preach.  " 

"  Ah,  there  is  a  church  on  the  hill.  Had  we  not 
better  turn  back  ?" 

"  I  do  wonder  what  need  they  have  for  churches 
here.  I  should  think  every  hill  would  be  a  ser- 
mon." 

"  Wouldn't  they  be  rather  rocky  ?" 

"Mr.  Winake,  I  shall  walk  up  this  hill  and 
alone,  if  you  do  that  again.  I  am  ashamed  of  you, 
positively  !  Slang  in  the  Adirondacks  !" 

"  What  in  the  Sam  Hill  are  ye  drivin'  so  fast  fer, 
Tom  ?  Don't  yer  see  yer  critters  is  about  to  drap?" 
came  up  from  the  street. 

Adrian  made  a  gesture  towards  her  as  though 
expecting  her  to  faint.  "  You  must  get  used  to  it, 
Miss  Berkeley.  I  know  it's  a  sudden  shock.  I 
have  passed  through  it  myself.  I  once  visited 
Concord,  and  standing  with  bated  breath — bated 
is  good — at  the  very  door  of  Emerson's  home,  I 
heard  an  Irishman  swear  like  a  trooper.  Metaphor- 
ically I  carried  myself  out  for  interment.  I  ven- 
ture that  you  will  find  that  a  majority  of  the  poets, 
novelists,  and  'lovers  of  nature,'  as  you  would 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  153 

say  in  the  Adirondacks,  are  summer  boarders. 
The  average  of  the  natives  will  ran  about  as  it 
does  the  world  over.  But  look  yonder !  Can  I  be- 
lieve ray  eyes,  or  rather  can  you  believe  them? 
There  is  a  jail,  and  a  court-house !  Can  it  be  pos- 
sible they  need  wardens  and  lawyers  in  such  an 
environment  ?" 

"  I  believe  you  expect  to  study  law  next  year, 
Mr.  Winake." 

"Well,  why?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  only  I  thought  you  spoke  of  them 
as  a  sort  of  associated  evil  with  jails  and  wardens.'* 

"  The  Windsor  House." 

"  A  waltz,  Miss  Berkeley,  in  the  drawing-room ! 
Better  try  some  other  house,  hadn't  we  ?"  said 
Winake  with  a  teasing  twinkle  in  his  genial  eyes. 

"  If  you  say  another  word  I  shall  be  vexed.  Of 
course,  I  knew  that  people  ate  and  drank  and  slept, 
and  even  danced  right  in  the  very  eyes  of  old 
White  Face — it  must  be  near  here  somewhere ; 
where  is  the  guide-book  ?  But  I  think  you  might 
let  me  indulge  in  a  little  imagination  when  you 
know  I—" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Leona ;  but  I  only 
wanted  to  prepare  you  for  the  uripoetic  side  of  life, 
even  in  Pleasant  Valley.  I  may  be  over-inclined 
to  see  that  side  of  it.  But  I  couldn't  help  observ- 
ing, as  we  came,  that  the  meadows  are  nine  parts 
white  and  yellow  daisies  to  one  of  timothy,  that 
in  spite  of  the  stone  fences  picked  up  from  the 


154  A  DOUBLE  EE VELA TION. 

fields,  the  corn  has  to  fight  its  way  through  the 
rocks,  and  that  the  push  and  prosperity  of  our 
great  West  are  like  unbelieved  dreams  to  these 
hard-toiling  mountain  people.  You  saw  the  poetry 
of  the  daisies,  the  stone  fences,  .and  the  pic- 
turesque huts.  I  am  glad  you  did.  I  saw  the 
reverse  side." 

"  Yes,  and  when  we  climb  old  Marcy,  you  will 
be  growling  about  the  *  steep  and  brambled  trail,' 
and  just  keep  me  discouraged  all  the  way  up," 
she  pouted. 

"No,  I'll  promise  to  sing  'Onward,  Christian 
Soldiers,'  all  the  way  up,  just  as  we  used  to  in 
chapel." 

"  I  wish  Prexy  were  here  to  lead  it  for  us." 

"  Thanks,  awfully." 

"  Oh,  not  but  that  you  can  sing,  Mr.  Winake, 
but  you  won't  half  mean  it." 

They  had  gone  into  the  parlor  as  they  talked. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Winake  ?"  said  the  bell-boy,  com- 
ing from  the  hotel  register.  "  Here  is  a  telegram 
for  you." 

"  Oh,  already  !  It  is  my  punishment,  I  suppose." 

"  I  hope  it  is  nothing — " 

"It  is  from  Hoi  well,  saying  he  will  be  here  to- 
morrow morning.  Must  have  made  the  deal  sooner 
than  he  expected." 

"  Then  I  shall  have  some  sympathy." 

"  Yes,  Holly  is  something  of  a  dreamer." 

"  Well,  he  won't  go  to  raising  hay  and  corn  the 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  155 

first  thing.      He   takes  his  hat  off  to  nature." 

"  Not  a  descendant  of  William  Tell,  then." 

"  Do  you  think  nature  is  a  tyrant  ?  But  I  don't 
blame  you  if  you  can't  discover  her  doing  any- 
thing better." — 

"  Than  raising  corn  ?" 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  the  rest  of  the  day, 
Miss  Berkeley?"  It  was  after  dinner.  "I  should 
like  to  take  a  walk  if  the  condition  of  the  natives 
won't  distress  you  too  much." 

"Oh,  no ;  I  am  a  philanthropist  by  nature,  and  I 
may  open  a  bureau  of  relief  here." 

"  We  can  at  least  study  the  guide-book.  Why, 
Marcy  is  not  near  here  at  all.  It  is  beyond  Keene 
Valley.  We  are  not  in  the  mountains  at  all  yet. 
O  yes,  Hurricane  can  be  seen  in  the  distance. 
What  would  we  do  without  our  '  dear  little  blue 
book.' " 

"  I  suggest  a  rest  until  Holly  comes.  He  has 
been  here  before.  What  have  we  to  read  ? " 

"I  have  just  finished  Howells'  'Quality  of 
Mercy.'  " 

"A  departure  in  psychology,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  best  soul  analysis  we  have  in  our  new 
fiction." 

"And  yet,  from  a  sociological  standpoint,  I  do 
not  like  any  of  Howells'  nearly  so  well  as  Garland's 
stories.  Garland  never  seems  afraid  of  conclusions. 
He  states  the  definite  wrong  of  society  and  attacks 


156  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

it  manfully,  often  proposing  remedies  for  distinct 
social  ills." 

"  But  is  not  the  other  truer  art  ?  Howells  arouses 
all  your  indignation  by  his  realistic  conditions. 
You  make  your  own  conclusions,  and  propose  your 
own  remedies." 

"It  may  be  better  art,  but  isn't  art  a  little  slow 
for  the  demands  of  the  age  ?  There  isn't  much 
art  about  the  affairs  at  Homestead  just  now.  I  am 
convinced  those  poor  men  would  like  to  do  the 
right  thing  for  their  families  and  their  fellows. 
Who  shall  tell  them  what  it  is?  Their  condemna- 
tion of  the  unfortunate  anarchistic  shooting'  is 
heroic,  and  confirms  the  public  confidence  in  their 
integrity.  Their  hearts  are  right.  What  little  art 
can  do  for  them  has  been  done.  But  who  shall 
point  them  the  way  out  ?  " 

"Congress." 
.  "When  was  Congress  converted?  " 

"In  the  campaign  of  '90." 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  When  have  the 
masses  had  a  law  from  Congress  as  against  the 
classes  ?" 

"  The  McKinley " 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Mr.  Winake." 

"  Well,  I  wasn't  going  to  say  anything." 

"  You  were  in  a  fair  way  to  say  nothing.  Noth- 
ing but  the  public  conscience  can  open  the  way  to 
toilers,  nothing  else  can  lead  them  out  when  it  is 
open.  '  The  novelist  of  to-day  finds  here  his  great- 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  157 

est  power.    Just  as  the  Teacher  of  Nazareth  aroused 

by  parables  the  conscience  of  his  time,  so  now " 

"  But  did  not  J.esus'  parables  show  consummate 
art  in  their  concealment  of  ways  and  means  ?" 

"  Certainly,  for  the  time  was  not  yet  at  hand. 
But  after  the  enduement  did  Peter  conceal  any- 
thing? 'Ye  have  crucified  him.'  'Repent.'  To 
my  mind  that  was  the  higher  art,  coming  from  the 
same  spirit,  for  it  brought  immediate  action.  No 
one  can  deny  the  fullness  of  time  this  very  minute 
in  social  reform.  This  is  the  golden  day  of  letters. 
The  editor,  the  moralist,  the  novelist,  the  econo- 
mist, and  even  the  preacher  have  come  to  their 
own  at  last.  The  pen  is  mightier  than  dynamite. 
The  wielder  of  the  pen  alone  can  snatch  the  fuse 
from  the  anarchist's  bomb.  I  would  rather  write 
the  new  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,'  than  to  do  the 
honors  of  the  White  House." 

"  You  think  a  woman  will  write  it,  do  you  ?  " 
"A  woman  wrote  the  first,  why  not  ?  " 
"  I  admire  the  color  in  your  cheeks  and  the  al- 
most terrible  light  in  your  eyes,  Miss  Leona.     In 
fact,  I  feel  myself  yielding  to  your  hypnotism,  if 
not  to  your  logic.     But  I  must  remind  you  that  we 
are  in  the  Adirondacks.     Had  you  forgotten  ?" 

"  I  was  dead,  but  am  alive  again.  Let  us  go 
forth  and  worship." 

"  The  churches  are  not  open  yet " 

"  The  churches  ? "  With  a  penetrating  accent. 
"  I  spoke  of  the  mountains." 


158  A  DO  UBLE  HE  VELA  TION. 

"  Bat  don't  you  remember  '  that  neither  in  yon- 
der mountain  nor  at  Jerusalem " 

"  Your  exegesis  is  musty,  like  your  theology. 
The  Jewish  and  Samaritan  strife  is  supposed  to 
have  ended,  or  at  least  is  transferred  to  new  fac- 
tions. After  awhile  we  shall  learn  when  and  how 
to  worship  in  Spirit.  Churches  then  -will  be 
armories,  not  altars.  Every  spot  will  be  an  altar. 
All  unrighteousness  the  foe." 

Adrian's  half-cynical  mood  died  away  as  he 
walked  beside  this  enthusiast  for  man  and  the 
home  of  man.  A  home  made  so  beautiful,  so 
sheltered  and  overflowing  by  the  Creator,  in  moun- 
tain, in  forest,  and  plain,  but  made  so  hard,  and 
ugly,  and  empty  for  the  millions,  by  thoughtless 
or  designing  men.  The  woman  impulse  began  to 
take  hold  upon  him  with  new  and  not  unpleasant 
effect.  He  loved  nature,  he  believed  in  the  race, 
though  he  often  groaned  with  anguish  as  he 
thought  of  the  long  journey  and  the  meager  prog- 
ress of  humanity.  Unfortunately  he  had  culti- 
vated a  light  way  of  treating  all  serious  subjects 
when  with  his  friends,  that  gave  one  the  false  im- 
pression that  he  was  both  selfish  and  indifferent. 

They  walked,  facing  the  setting  sun,  towards 
Deep  Hollow.  Just  before  them,  like  an  emerald 
set  in  gold,  was  Cobble  Hill  in  the  last  spreading 
light  of  the  already  hidden  sun.  Numerous  hills 
lay  on  either  hand,  regular  in  outline,  while  to  the 
south  they  grew  larger  and  more  broken.  They 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  159 

were  told  that  the  road  led  to  "  Split-Rock  Falls," 
eight  miles  to  the  southeast,  a  popular  resting-day 
place  for  tourists  stopping  at  Elizabeth  town.  Be- 
hind them  Raven  stood,  proud,  glossy  black,  in  the 
soft  sunset  light.  Returning  they  passed  on  down 
into  the  quiet  village.  They  rested  for  awhile  on 
the  bridge,  watching  the  eager  little  Bouquet 
scurrying  away  as  though  the  night  would  catch 
it  before  it  reached  the  lake.  It  did  overtake  it, 
and  always  will.  It  seemed  to  Leona  as  though 
the  unfortunate  were  always  hurrying  just  so,  run- 
ning from  pain  and  poverty  out  to  the  realm  of  re- 
pose, but  always  overtaken  by  the  night.  It  was 
still  light  enough  to  observe  the  sober  colors  of 
the  water-worn  rocks  in  the  river.  They  were  seal 
and  clay,  olive,  bronze,  arid  granite-green,  drab  and 
gray,  ochre  and  white  ;  and  yet  when  held  up  out 
of  the  water  they  looked  very  much  alike.  So  it 
seemed  to  her,  men,  viewed  under  the  light-refract- 
ing element  of  caste  and  vocation,  appear  much 
more  dissimilar  than  upon  close  inspection.  Under 
common  emotions  they  act  very  much  like  the  sons 
of  a  common  father. 

Is  not  each  one  a  father,  a  son,  or  a  brother  ? 
Will  he  not  wince  if  you  prick  him  ?  Will  he 
not  show  gratitude  if  you  caress  him  ?  If  he  suffer, 
will  he  not  moan ;  if  he  be  happy,  will  he  not 
laugh  ?  If  his  own  die,  will  he  not  weep  ?  If  he 
sin,  will  he  not  feel  conscience's  stinging  reproof? 
If  he  die,  will  he  not  see  visions  this  side  the  part- 


160  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

ing  veil  ?  If  lie  live  again,  will  it  not  be  by  virtue 
of  his  inheritance  from  the  Eternal  ? 

Wherein  do  men  differ  ?  Surely  in  nothing  but 
judgment.  Otherwise  the  same  qualities  obtain. 
The  heathen  mother  strangles  her  baby  girl ;  the 
Christian  teaches  hers  chastity  in  the  growing 
years.  Each,  because  her  Deity  so  commands  her 
reason.  Each  obeys  conscience  and  commies  no 
sin — there  is  no  guilt  in  either.  But  God  pity  the 
one  if  she  teach  not  chastity  ! 

No  stern  pen  like  mine  can  reproduce  the  fine, 
secret,  womanhood  emotions  and  purposes,  sweep- 
ing through  Leona  Berkeley's  gentle  soul  as  she 
stood  introspectively  in  the  twilight,  gazing  on  the 
bridge. 

It  was  a  communion  hour  without  priest,  wafer, 
or  cup. 

"  Mr.  Marveley,  this  is  my  sister  Leona,  and  our 
friend,  Mr.  Winake.  I  know  you  will  be  friends 
in  an  hour.  Mr.  Marveley  is  an  old  classmate  of 
mine  at  Andover.  A  quiet  fellow  then,  he  has 
made  a  great  stir  since.  We  all  three  read  your 
new  book,  or  rather  Leona  read  it  to  us,  on  the 
boat  last  week.  It  is  .superb.  I  am  proud  of  you/' 

"  Very  kind  of  you,  I  am  sure.  I  happened  to 
meet  Holwell ;  "  turning  to  Leona,  "  or  *  Holly- 
hock,' as  we  used  to  know  him  at  Andover,  in  New 
York.  I  was  lounging  towards  the  Catskills,  but 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  161 

you  know  his  way,  Miss  Leona  ;  it  is  irresistible  ; 
so  here  I  am." 

"A  regular  four-in-hand." 

"  You  will  be  pleased  to  learn,  Leona,  that  Mr. 
Marveey  is  fresh  from  the  Homestead  strike,  in- 
tending to  lay  his  next  story  there." 

"  That's  a  secret,  Berkeley.  We  have  to  keep 
the  reporters  off,  or  they  will  have  the  whole  story 
in  the  papers  before  I  write  a  line." 

"  One  woman,  three  men.  Three  to  one  we  keep 
it,"  said  Winake. 

"And  no  takers,"  quietly  replied  Leona. 

"  I  am  more  pleased  than  I  can  tell  you  that  you 
can  give  us  the  very  latest,  and  the  facts,  about 
Homestead.  I  never  wanted  to  go  anywhere  so 
much  in  my  life.  And  this  will  be  almost  as  good. 
I  think  I  need  not  ask  which  side  you  take." 

"  There  is  but  one  side,  to  the  thoughtful  man  on. 
the  ground,  Miss  Berkeley." 

"  I  was  sure  of  it." 


"  Stage  for  Keene  Valley,"  shouted  the  driver. 

"  We  are  ready,"  came  back  the  hearty  reply. 
It  was  a  glorious  morning  for  a  ride.  Three  other 
guests  were  going  along,  making  the  wide,  four- 
seated  mountain  wagon  a  roomy,  jostling,  rattling 
triumphal  car. 

"  To  the  left  you  see  the  peak  of  Hurricane,  pro- 
nounced in  three  distinct  syllables,  with  a  world 
11 


162  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

of  stormy  meaning  by  the  natives,"  shouted  Hoi- 
well. 

"  Just  in  front  of  us  is  Saddle-back  Hill.  Can't 
you  see  the  pigmy  soldier  seated  on  his  steed, 
ready  for  the  rush  ? " 

"Not  a  soldier,  Holly,  let's  call  it  the  elfin 
rider.  Make  him  the  hero  of  your  next  story,  Mr. 
Marveley." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  came  from  the  back  seat, 
"  but  is  this  Mr.  Eugene  Marveley?  " 

"  It  is,"  replied  Berkeley, "  and  I  shall  be  pleased 
to  present  you  to  him." 

"  We  are  a  party  of  three  from  Boston,"  giving 
their  names,  "  and  have  been  in  raptures  over  Mr. 
Marveley's  stories,  particularly  the  last  one.  We 
certainly  regard  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  as 
the  chief  thing  of  our  visit." 

"And  just  think  of  it,  broke  in  one  of  the  young 
ladies,  to  ride  in  the  same  wagon,  and  see  the 
same  mountains." 

"  I  beg  of  you  say  no  more,"  cried  Mr.  Marveley, 
as  though  the  whole  affair  were  a  huge  joke. 

It  is  very  easy  for  tourists  to  become  acquainted. 
Often  some  long  looked-for  peak  coming  into  sight 
suddenly,  an  accident  of  some  kind,  and  sometimes 
only  a  smile  is  needed  to  make  strangers  confi- 
dential friends.  A  friendship  this,  foreign  to  the 
high-pressure  life  of  every  day.  It  results  from  a 
leveling  environment.  Exalted  things  make  smaller 
ones  more  alike,  and  if  they  be  men,  cause  them  to 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  163 

draw  closer  together.  When  all  men  shall  come 
to  look  up  to  the  Highest  they  shall  be  brethren 
indeed. 

For  nearly  seven  miles  they  climbed  up  easy 
slopes,  while  the  dashing  Bouquet  just  at  their  side 
came  down  with  many  a  mocking  little  laugh  that 
anybody  should  want  to  go  up  hill.  Often  they  lis- 
tened to  what  seemed  a  shower  of  raindrops  on 
the  leaves  up  the  hill,  only  to  find  shy,  little  falls 
of  water  with  ten  or  twelve  feet  descent.  After 
about  an  hour,  every  moment  of  which  was  filled 
with  some  swift-changing  scene,  they  reached 
Pitch  Off  Pass,  sheltered  by  a  rugged  cliff  at  a 
height  of  nearly  two  thousand  feet.  They  have 
stolen  upon  Hurricane  so  stealthily  that  he  stands 
for  some  moments  in  plain  view,  so  near  that  it 
seems  one  could  almost  leap  into  his  green  depths, 
so  illusive  and  alluring  are  mountain  distances. 
A  thousand  feet  below  they  sight  the  famed  Keene 
Valley,  stretching  its  ten  miles  of  Italian  beauty 
from  Keene  to  the  An  Sable  ponds. 

"How  can  I  wait?"  mused  Leona. 

"  For  what  ?" 

"  For  the  valley ;   it  seems  like  heaven." 

"  I  thought  heaven  was  up,  not  down,"  said 
Adrian. 

"  Yes,  some  people  do  think  they  will  find  no 
heaven  until  they  can  fly.  They  don't  know  that 
it  is  a  condition  and  not  a  place." 


164  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

"  Do  yon  think  they  will  ever  discover  their 
mistake  ?" 

"  I  doubt  it." 

"  Look  !  far  beyond  the  ranges  rising  west  of  the 
valley,  you  can  see  White  Face.  You  must  look 
quickly  however,  or  yo.u  will  lose  it.  £s"ext  to 
Marcy  it  is  the  grandest  pile  in  the  Adirondacks." 

As  they  descended  rapidly,  the  Gothics,  a  dis- 
tinct range  within  themselves,  appeared  to  the 
south,  while  to  the  southwest  a  little  later,  Marcy 
itself  was  distinguishable." 

"  Isn't  there  an  Indian  name  for  Marcy  ?" 

"Tahawus;  a  much  stronger  name  every  way. 
The  fact  that  it  is  an  Indian  name  makes  it  much 
more  appropriate,  even  if  it  had  no  special  signifi- 
cance ;  but  meaning,  as  it  does,  '  I  cleave  the 
clouds,'  it  ought  to  be  accepted  without  question." 

"  One  reads,"  remarked  Mr.  Marveley,  "  that 
among  the  first  summits  to  appear  above  the 
water  in  primeval  times  were  these  loftiest  of  the 
Adirondacks.  Doubtless  Tahawus  was  first  to 
cleave  the  universal  cloud,  and  White  Face  first  to 
reflect  the  soft,  prophetic  light  of  life." 

"Isn't  it  wonderful  to  think  that  here  old 
mother  earth  began,"  half  sighed  Leona. 

"  I  presume  terra  firma  was  uttered  for  the  first 
time  that  day." 

"  How  can  you,  Mr.  Winake !  .Besides  there 
were  no  days  yet.  Didn't  the  Dean  teach  you  that 
the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  were  not  made  until  in 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  165 

the  third  epoch,  and  that  there  was  no  distinction 
between  the  solar  day  and  night  until  then  ?" 

"You  forget  I  am  not  a  theolog." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  with  a  deeper  sigh. 

"Here  we  turn  into  the  valley  proper.  Six 
miles  further  we  will  find  St.  Hubert's  Inn  (known 
for  years  as  Beede's)  and  dinner." 

In  spite  of  the  hot  sun,  the  valley  drive  was 
cooled  with  a  fragrant  breath  from,  off  the  hills 
which  rise  immediately  out  of  the  plains,  in  this 
respect  unlike  any  other  portion  of  the  range. 

"Every  mountain  range  has  an  outline-figure 
peculiar  to  itself.  Sometimes  it  is  round,  again 
sharp  and  peaked,  but  the  Adirondacks  take  the 
long,  wavy  contour.  Almost  every  conceivable 
shape  can  be  seen  along  the  horizon.  A  wealth  of 
design  worthy  a  sculptor.  One  could  not  easily 
tiie  of  them  for  that  reason,"  explained  Mr. 
Marveley. 

Passing  Keene  Valley  post-office,  they  discover 
several  beautiful  cottages,  maroon  and  yellow, 
nestled  back  on  the  first  levels  of  the  hills. 

"  What  delightful  nooks  in  which  to  hide  from 
figures,  pork  and  stocks,"  suggested  Winake. 

"  While  for  the  really  tired,  there  is  no  rest," 
returned  Leona. 

Just  after  a  long  hill-pull  they  are  at  St. 
Hubert's,  the  most  modern  and  inviting  hotel  in  the 
Adirondacks.  It  is  a  whirl  of  civilization  set  down 
in  the  midst  of  majestic  repose.  Everything  that 


166  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

eye  or  ear  or  palate  is  accustomed  to  in  the  outer 
world,  or  can  wish,  is  here  in  profusion.  What 
monumental  stillness  settles  about  it.  To  the 
east  is  Hopkiirs  Peak,  and  the  Giant  of  the  val- 
ley with  its  Sphinx-like  I.  V.  W.  in  black  and 
green.  No  mind  has  had  the  gift  to  read  that  dire 
secret  of  the  ages.  Some  antediluvian  giant  may 
have  carved  his  challenging  initials  as  he  strode 
from  range  to  range  in  Homeric  rage. 

Between  east  and  south  is  Noonmark,  with  its 
shadow-players  appearing  each  day  in  a  new  role 
— "a  pantomime  of  the  angels,"  as  a  little  friend  of 
mine  suggested.  The  east  branch  of  the  Au  Sable 
River  runs  but  a  little  distance  away,  drawing  to 
its  quieter  level  the  falls  of  Roaring  Brook,  three 
hundred -feet  down  the  side  of  the  Giant.  Chapel 
Pond  and  the  Giant's  Washbowl  are  two  other 
attractions  in  the  Giant's  great  show,  easily 
reached  from  the  Inn. 

"  Now  we  shall  rest/'  said  Berkeley.  "  Early  to- 
morrow we  will  start  for  the  Au  Sable  ponds  to  find 
the  chief  of  all  the  valley's  charms.  The  Upper 
Au  Sable  for  beauty,  Tahawus  for  grandeur. 
And  yet  so  many  other  lakes  and  mountains  fall 
so  little  behind  them,  that  discrimination  is  diffi- 
cult." 

"  Now  Mr.  Marveley  can  tell  us  about  Home- 
stead." 

"  You  will  have  a  more  sympathetic  staging  if 
we  walk  out  a  little  way  from  the  haunts  of  the 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  167 

guests,"  suggested  Adrian.  u  Such,  an  indiscreet 
gang  of  socialists  as  we,  are  liable  to  be  mobbed 
by  the  aristocracy." 

"The  suggestion  is  a  good  one." 

"  Which  half,  Miss  Berkeley  ?" 

"Oh,  you  can't  divide  Mr.  "VVinake's  proposi- 
tions. They  have  to  be  taken  whole,  like  oysters." 

"  The  supply  of  sauce  seems  to  hold  out  well," 
replied  Adraiu  sharply. 

"Well,  Kussell's  Falls  are  just  a  few  steps 
away.  We  will  go  up  there  and  save  our  necks," 
said  Berkeley. 

"  Of  course,  you  must  understand,"  began  the 
novelist,  "  that  I  did  not  go  to  Homestead  in  cold 
blood,  for  a  story.  That  has  been  an  after-thought, 
in  fact,  a  necessity.  I  must  overflow  somehow.  I 
will. give  it  a  channel.  Perhaps  rny  indignation 
and  sympathy  may  do  some  good  for  other  toilers, 
if  not  for  the  men  at  Homestead  now. 

"  It  was  a  strange  experience.  To  see  thousands 
of  workingmen  idle,  even  on  a  gala  day,  is  a  novel 
sight ;  but  to  see  them  dejected,  solemn  arid  smile- 
lessly  earnest,  and  waiting  restlessly,  is  quite 
another  sight.  A  whisky-laugh,  now  and  then, 
just  to  bring  out  the  soberness  of  the  vast  throng, 
a  mocking,  jeering  face  among  five  hundred,  to 
deepen  the  lines  of  care  and  dread.  To  stand  at 
one  side  and  look  upon  such  a  crowd  would  quick- 
en any  pulse,  but  to  become  a  man  with  them  as  I 
did,  would  almost  stop  the  heart's  beating.  Some- 


168  A  DOUBLE  BEVELATION. 

how  they  found  out  who  I  was.  I  think  the  post- 
master gave  them  the  information.  You  see,  they 
were  watching  for  spies  all  the  time.  A  number 
of  them  had  read  'A  Toiler's  Struggle,'  and 
trusted  me  from  the  first.  They  took  me  into  their 
homes  and  left  me  beside  their  sick  babies.  Never 
accustomed  to  speak,  I  found  myself  addressing 
vast  throngs  of  men,  quiet,  orderly,  but  fearfully 
grim.  I  refused  again  and  again,  until  their  re- 
proachful eyes  nerved  me  to  the  ordeal.  I  am  not 
sorry  I  did  it.  I  was  afraid  of  just  what  has  hap- 
pened. Rumors  had  already  reached  us,  in  fact, 
open  propositions  from  the  anarchists,  either  to 
remove  the  offending  parties,  or  destroy  the  works. 
A  few  only  gave  heed  to  the  hiss  of  this  serpent, 
labor's  most  subtile  and  tempting  devil.  I  rejoice 
that  every  word  of  warning  I  uttered  was  ap- 
plauded to  the  echo.  I  know  the  published  pro- 
tests of  the  strikers  since  the  shooting  to  be  truth- 
ful. They  feel  they  have  been  most  grossly  mis- 
represented and  maligned  by  the  bloody  deed.  I 
thundered  in  their  ears,  by  no  trick  of  rhetoric,  for 
I  know  none,  that  anarchy  seeks  to  bless  by  curs- 
ing, to  heal  with  the  dagger,  and  moves  towards 
its  heaven  through  hell." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  issue,  Mr.  Marveley?" 
asked  Leona. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  say.  One  thing  is  settled  for- 
ever, I  take  it.  The  Pinkerton  bull-dogs  will  have 
to  stay  in  their  kennels.  Blood-hounds  for  slaves, 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  169 

soldiers  for  freemen.  One  other  thing  has  been 
settled.  No  private  soldier  will  ever  again  be 
hung  up  by  his  thumbs,  and  branded  with  barbers' 
tools  by  the  officer  in  command,  on  American  soil. 
Perhaps  a  third  fact  is  almost  determined.  A 
book  entitled  '  Triumphant  Democracy  '  will  have 
an  increased  sale. 

"But,  more  generally;  the  people  and  honest 
labor  asking  its  own,  are  closer  by  this  strike ; 
the  day  is  nearer  when  the  profits  of  money  plus 
toil  will  be  more  equally  distributed  between  cap- 
ital and  labor.  The  bitterest  days  are  over." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that.  I  have  been 
very  apprehensive." 

"No  need  of  it,  Berkeley.  The  anarchists  will 
show  their  hand  within  three  years.  Few  in 
number,  mad  in  brain,  and  possessed  in  soul,  they 
will  be  exterminated  at  a  single  blow.  The  sepa- 
ration between  law-hating  and  law-abiding  took 
place  at  Hayrnarket  Square.  A  stream  of  blood  is 
between  them  now.  Its  current  was  quickened  at 
Homestead  last  week.  It  will  never  be  crossed. 

"  The  steadying  hand  of  the  teacher  and  the 
writer  came  just  in  time.  Had  no  one  called  a 
halt  and  pointed  another  way,  *  Caesar's  Column ' 
would  have  been  built  ere  this.  The  '  face  about  * 
has  come.  The  army  has  been  re-enforced  ten-fold 
since  then,  from  every  profession  and  rank  of  life. 
The  best,  the  wisest,  the  most  relentless  in  battle, 
of  America's  sixty  millions  are  faced  now  with 


170  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

labor  towards  its  goal — just  compensation.  I  in- 
clude the  noblest  and  most  truly  cultured  women 
of  the  land." 

"It  is  woman's  problem  more  than  man's," 
broke  in  Leona.  "  It  concerns  directly  the  home, 
its  children,  and  its  virtue.  Sometime  the  anti 
and  pro-tariff  shouters  will  put  their  mouths  in  the 
dust  and  the  protection  of  the  home  will  stir  every 
heart.  The  home-lovers  for  it ;  the  home  damners 
against  it." 

"Rostrum,  rostrum,"  called  Winake,  who  never 
could  endure  that  a  private  conversation  should 
become  so  serious  and  tragical. 

"  Miss  Berkeley  will  doubtless  take  it  when  the 
conflict  comes,"  musingly  said  Mr.  Marveley,  in 
Leona's  defense,  whose  intelligent  sympathy  with 
current  reform  had  strangely  affected  him.  He  was 
not  accustomed  to  that  sort  of  thing  in  the  East.  A 
bright,  girlish,  laughing  young  lady,  evidently 
used  to  the  best  society,  well-dressed,  with  an  air 
of  cultured  repose  when  the  occasion  required,  and 
yet  so  thoughtful,  so  well-read,  so  definitely  set  on 
one  side  or  the  other  of  every  great  question,  was 
an  anomaly  to  Marveley.  What  a  character  she 
would  make,  and,  yes,  what  a  friend  she  could  be  ; 
and  if  a  friend,  what  a  helper. 

Adrian  saw  the  intense  but  unconscious  expres- 
sion on  his  face.  Whether  or  not  he  himself  had 
had  any  serious  intentions  toward  Leona,  he  with- 
drew at  once  from  the  contest  with  a  nobility  native 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.     .  171 

to  him,  though  not  always  on  the  surface.  He 
knew  his  advantage  as  a  friend  of  the  family,  but 
he  saw  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  and  secretly 
promised  aid  rather  than  interference. 

Aroused  from  his  revery  by  Leona's  suddenly 
uplifted  face,  as  though  to  question  him  further, 
Marveley  went  on  :  "I  have  not  told  you  the  chief 
motive  for  going  to  Homestead.  It  is  somewhat 
painful,  and  yet  not  really  so,  after  all.  One  of 
the  leaders  of  the  strike  is  an  older  brother  of 
mine.  So  you  see  I  am  tied  to  that  cause,  and  to 
this  particular  issue,  by  a  cord  of  flesh.  He  wrote 
me  for  advice.  I  answered  in  person.  Two  of  the 
principal  events  of  the  strike  were  the  result  of  his 
high-minded  and  yet  loyal  fairness.  I  arn  not  at 
liberty  to  name  them  now.  But  you  see,  what  I  say 
of  the  case  I  can  vouch  for.  Above  everything  else 
I  have  said  or  shall  say,  I  want  this  to  be  heard  : 
Ninety-five  out  of  every  one  hundred  of  these  men 
will  protect  any  human  life  with  their  own.  They 
are  not  haters  of  men.  I  doubt  if  more  can  be  said 
of  any  ten  thousand  men  in  the  world." 

A  peculiar  feeling  came  over  Adrian  as  he 
learned  how  close  Marveley  was  to  the  great  con- 
flict. First  he  felt  a  gulf  sinking  between  them  ; 
iu  an  instant  he  hated  himself  for  it ;  then  a  strange 
longing  broke  through  his  whole  being,  spreading 
like  some  fearful  contagion.  A  longing  to  be  one 
of  those  helpless,  hopeless  men  possessed  him. 
He  arose  from  the  rock-bench,  arid  stepping  out 


172  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

into  the  open  light,  pretended  to  be  looking  away 
for  some  distant  peak. 

Truly  he  was  looking  away  for  that  summit 
every  soul  of  us  feels  compelled  at  times  to  climb 
toward.  He  walked  a  little  way,  until  the  placid 
music  of  the  falls  overcame  the  voices  of  the  earn- 
est talkers.  The  mood  deepened  upon  him.  He 
was  almost  alarmed.  He  struggled  as  a  soldier 
might  against  the  rising  fever  which  he  knows 
will  keep  him  in  camp  and  from  the  field.  He. was 
still  looking  out  over  the  hilltops  when  he  heard 
Leona's  voice  above  the  brook's  waters  for  a  mo- 
ment. It  came  clear,  searching,  as  a  general's 
would  in  the  midst  of  battle  if  it  were  a  woman 
leading.  Not  an  entranced  Joan  of  Arc,  but  a 
brave,  rational,  race-loving  woman.  He  felt  im- 
pelled to  look  with  more  directness.  All  the  good 
in  him  was  rising  and  marshaling  his  forces.  Self, 
the  cynic  self,  the  provoking,  half-idle  self,  was 
laying  down  its  flashing  wit-sword,  and  his  dead 
father's  heroic  spirit  was  taking  possession,  as  by 
some  new  philosophy  of  post-natal  transmigration 
of  souls. 

He  looked  again.  Now  he  saw  the  summit.  Bat 
a  fearful  consciousness  had  come  with  it.  It  was 
a  frightful  price  he  was  paying  for  his  redemption. 
He  loved  Leona.  Loved  her,  not  for  her  girlish 
beauty  and  winning  ways,  but  for  her  womanly 
love  of  men,  and  her  unyielding  devotion  to  the 
cause  of  liberty.  Loved  her,  and  he  had  just 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  173 

pledged  himself  to  aid  another,  a  stranger,  and 
one  already  in  the  fall  of  her  sympathy  by  their 
common  interests,  one  whom  the  world  called 
great.  His  pledge  he  would  keep  at  all  hazards. 
The  summit  he  would  reach,  and  alone. 

By  some  strange  impulse  he  felt  moved  to  make 
immediate  record  of  his  awakening.  Taking  his 
diary,  he  wrote :  "  Russell's  Falls,  Adirondacks, 
July  26th,  1892,  4:40  P.  M.  Two  revelations.  One, 
the  summit  of  my  life :  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
honest  labor  in  America.  The  other  begins  and 
ends  in  myself.  One  complements  the  other; 
doubtless,  one  the  cause,  the  other  the  effect.  A. 
Winake."  Poor  fellow,  he  would  analyze  things 
by  his  old  habit,  though  it  killed  him.  However, 
the  analysis  helped  him.  He  saw  that  the  effect 
had  come  to  take  the  place  of  the  unattainable 
cause.  Otherwise  he  would  die.  To  have  loved 
Leona  Berkeley,  and  to  have  remained  indifferent 
to  the  race,  or  lightly  jesting  to  her  impulses, 
would  have  been  either  to  have  lost  her  irrevoca- 
bly, or  having  gained  her,  to  chill  her  into  a  most 
wretched  existence,  bringing  lifelong  misery  to 
both.  She  would  at  least  respect  him  now — that 
lie  had  the  right  to  claim  and  to  hold. 

There  was  no  great  mystery  in  Adrian's  sudden 
change.  It  was  in  his  very  nature.  He  had  stifled 
these  mercy-voices  all  his  life.  At  college,  where 
the  environment  was  conducive  to  their  develop- 
ment, he  fought  the*  harder  against  their  influence. 


174  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

But  now  a  great  desire  had  given  him  a  great  pur- 
pose. He  had  the  true  nature  back  of  it. 

I  have  talked  with  many  an  indifferent  student 
to  find  a  single  sentence  awakening  ambition  and 
purpose.  Education  means  no  less  than  this. 

What  surer  teacher  can  there  be  than  love  ? 

I  shall  not  undertake  to  account  for  what  fol- 
lows. Indeed,  I  am  not  sure  that  any  explanation 
can  be  given.  There  are  those  who  would  say  that 
this  sudden  uprising  of  Winake's  nobility  was  the 
result  of  mind-influence — remote  mind-influence.  I 
am  not  a  convert  to  that  philosophy  yet.  There  are 
strange  things  wholly  believed  by  good  men  with 
strong  minds.  It  is  no  longer  a  sign  of  weakness  to 
believe  in  mental  influence  through  space.  But  I  am 
simply  not  convinced  that  it  is  not  wholly  subjec- 
tive. I  think  the  only  mind  influence  in  this  case, 
however,  came  from  Leona  Berkeley's  beautifully 
turned  little  skull,  with  its  delicate  quality  of 
brain. 

But  you  want  the  fact,  and  not  theories,  mine  or 
theirs. 

"A  special  delivery  letter  for  you,  sir,"  said  the 
clerk  to  Winake,  as  they  sauntered  into  the  vast 
lobby  of  the  hotel.  Still  tremulous  with  the  emo- 
tion of  his  "revelation,",  as  he  called  it,  it  is  not 
strange  that  he  appeared  very  nervous  as  he  tore 
the  letter  open. 

"  I  hope  it  is  only  good  news,  Adrian." 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  175 

Leona  never  had  called  liiru  Adrian  before.  I 
don't  know  why  she  did  it  now.  Something  in  his 
manner  all  the  way  from  the  Falls,  a  subdued, 
gentle,  sober  mood,  had  impelled  her  to  a  sisterly 
affection  for  him,  particularly  as  he  had  appar- 
ently been  shut  out  of  their  councils.  She  had 
already  determined  that  the  after-supper  conversa- 
tion should  be  literary,  that  Adrian  might  show 
himself  to  better  advantage  before  Mr.  Marveley. 

Pale  as  death,  and  with  his  lips  a-quiver,  he 
handed  her  the  letter  and  went  out. 

"  Oh,  dear !"  she  exclaimed  as  she  read.  "  What 
will  the  poor  boy  do  ?  " 

How  it  would  have  hurt  him  had  he  heard  her,  she 
little  knew.  Her  words  meant  that  with  his  great 
fortune  gone  what  would  become  of  him — poor 
wretch.  Yes,  that  was  the  total  of  it.  A  western 
bank,  in  whose  hands  were  all  his  large  interests, 
had  failed.  His  attorneys  wrote  him  that  unless  a 
certain  deal  could  be  made,  whose  details  neither 
Adrian  nor  Leona  had  noted  in  the  letter,  the 
thousand  dollars  which  he  now  had  with  him  in 
drafts  for  his  outing,  would  be  the  extent  of  his 
wealth.  Berkeley  and  Marveley  read  the  letter. 
Holly  was  fearfully  distressed,  even  to  tears.  He 
felt  very  much  as  Leona  had  expressed  herself,  but 
with  a  man's  greater  knowledge  of  men's  ways,  he 
knew  that  Winake  could  find  something  to  do. 

"Adrian  would  make  a  fine  journalist.  He  has 
just  the  tact  to  find,  and  the  nerve  to  write  up 


176  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

news.  That  sarcastic  cynicism  of  his  would  make 
spicy  reading." 

"Well,  it  just  occurs  to  me,"  said  Marveley, 
"  that  there  is  a  first-class  opening  on  the  staff  of 
the  '  World,'  where  I  have  some  influence,  sufficient, 
I  think,  to  secure  a  favor  of  this  sort.  You  could 
recommend  him  Berkeley  ?  It  is  a  very  responsi- 
ble place." 

"  Indeed  I  can.  I  have  always  urged  him  to  try 
reportorial  work  when  he  had  finished  at  college. 
He  has  half-way  promised  to  do  it." 

"I  shall  hope  he  will  turn  his  sharp  criticism 
for  the  cause  of  humanity.  I  ask  no  other  return. 
The  '  World  '  lies  that  way." 

"  I  know  him  to  be  in  full  accord  with  current 
reform,"  'said  Leona,  "  though  he  likes  to  deny  it. 
He  is  full  of  noble  impulses.  I  thoroughly  believe 
in  him.  But  the  shock  will  be  so  very  severe." 

"  I  presume  he  will  have  to  leave  us  ? " 

"  Oh,  dear,  I  hope  not,"  replied  Leona. 

"  No,  he  must  not,"  added  Berkeley.  "  I  think 
I  can  arrange  it  so  that  he  will  not  feel  it.  If  he 
can  go  to  work  early  in  September,  there  is  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  remain  with  us  until 
that  time." 

"  I  will  write  at  once  to  the  *  World.'  " 

"  Had  we  not  better  wait  until  we  consult  him  ? 
He  may  have  some  plans  of  his  own,"  suggested 
Leona. 

"  I  doubt  it,  but  we  shall  wait.     We  are  all  very 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  177 

grateful  to  you,  Marveley,  for  this  kindly  aid. 
Adrian  is  just  like  a  brother  to  me.  I  must  go 
now  and  find  him.  I  can  do  more  for  him  than 
anyone  else." 

He  learned  from  the  porter  .that  Winake  had 
taken  the  path  back  to  the  Falls. 

It  was  early  twilight.  Once  or  twice  a  late  bird 
sang  a  timid  little  trill  far  away.  Adrian  had 
noted  several  flying  across  the  open  space  in  front 
of  the  falls,  hurriedly,  as  though  hunted,  and  then 
disappear  in  the  sheltering  woods.  A  pillar  of 
cloud  rested  on  the  broad  summit  not  far  away. 
White  at  first,  it  caught  soon  the  gold  of  the  sun- 
set. "A  cloud  by  day  and  a  pillar  of  fire  by 
night,''  thought  Adrian.  "  I  have  crossed  the  sea. 
That  I  know  by  the  psalm  that  keeps  chanting 
itself  within  me.  I  have  heard,  too,  the  voice  of 
the  leader.  The  promised  land  is  far  off,  doubtless, 
but  in  it  is  the  heavenly  mount." 

He  looked  down  at  his  feet.  A  massive,  seamed 
rock  lay  like  the  strength  of  ages  beneath  him. 
Its  up-reaching  side  was  both  a  shelter  and  a 
shadow  ;  under  it  was  a  gushing  spring.  At  last 
he  had  an  image  of  the  Absolute.  David  saw  it 
centuries  before,  but  he  had  forgotten  that.  It 
was  his  now. 

"Well,  my  boy." 

Berkeley   had  been    afraid  of   frightening  him 
12 


178  A  DO  UBLE  HE  VELA  TION. 

in  his  nervousness,  and  tried  to  approach  in  full 
sight,  but  Adrian's  in-looking  had  been  too  ab- 
stracted. He  looked  up  very  calmly. 

"  It  was  kind  of  you  to  come,  Holly.     But  I  guess 
I  am  all  right." 

"  Of  course  you  will  be  all  right,  Adrian.  No 
new  thing  has  happened  ;  new  to  you,  but  not  to 
the  world.  You  have  brains,"  he  went  on,  not 
wishing  to  give  him  time  to  despair  but  to  have 
hope  at  once,  "  and  a  splendid  education.  The 
world  has  claims  upon  you.  Now  it  stands  a  bet- 
ter chance  of  making  them  good.  It  looks  like 
providence,  but  at  this  very  moment  the  way 
opens  for  the  fulfillment  of  your  promise  to  me. 
Marveley  has  at  his  command  a  vacancy  on  the 
'  World  '  staff.  You  can  step  at  once  into  promi- 
nence as  a  young  journalist.  Your  qualifications 
are  ample,  and  Marveley  will  prove  a  true  friend 
until  you  can  gain  some  experience." 

"  They  say  losses  make  gains.  I  am  sure  mine 
have.  Such  timely  and  courteous  help  is  rare.  I 
thank  you  and  Mr.  Marveley  and  Leona  for  this 
thoughtful  kindness.  But,  Holly,  I  want  to  show 
you  something.  I  am  glad  I  wrote  it  now.  It  will 
prove  that  my  determination  is  no  spasmodic  im- 
pulse, or  nervous  re-action.  As  you  talked  here 
this  afternoon,  on  this  very  spot,  I  had  what  I  call 
my  '  revelation.'  Of  course  that's  the  poetry  of  it. 
In  reality  I  came  to  myself;  that  is  all.  I  have 
been  wanting  to  do  so  this  long  time,  but  didn't 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  179 

have  the  courage,  or  motive,  or,  something.  But 
read  this  and  you  will  understand." 

"  This  is  exceedingly  strange,  Adrian.  Its  out- 
lines are  too  large  for  me  yet.  I  will  grow  to  them 
by  and  by.  I  gather  here  that  an  hour  before  your 
sad  letter  came,  you  had  resolved  to  go  among  the 
laboring  men  and  with  them  strive  for  their  ends." 

"  You  are  accurate  in  every  word." 

"  The  second  revelation, — " 

Adrian  paled. 

"  I  see  that  is  all  yours.  I  will  not  touch  it. 
But  may  I  ask  a  single  question  ?  You  need  not 
answer  it  unless  you  wish.  I  will  tell  you  some- 
time why  I  ask.  Had  it  any  connection  with  the 
message  you  afterwards  received — a  mental  fore- 
'warningof  coming  disaster?" 

"  I  will  answer.     It  had  not  the  least." 

Berkeley  thought  he  had  a  gleam  of  light.  But 
his  face  was  blank.  He  would  probe  no  further. 
It  was  a  sacred  secret,  and  should  be  respected. 

He  put  his  strong  hand  on  Adrian's  shoulder  as 
they  stood  together.  The  significance  of  the  great 
event  was  coming  in  on  Berkeley.  His  fervent  and 
poetic  nature  was  aliame  under  the  thought  of  it. 

Here  is  work  for  an  artist.  A  night-fall  from 
the  mountain  tops,  great  shadows  lying  wide  and 
deep  upon  the  valley,  cut  by  a  thin  wedge  of  light 
entering  through  a  distant  pass,  touching  with  sil- 
ver the  water  against  the  rocks,  showing  against 
the  side-shadows  the  faces  of  two  men.  It  is  a 


180  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

Pauline  fellowship:  "Fraternity  vaunteth  not 
itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  thinketh  no  evil,  rejoiceth 
in  all  things."  The  little  valley  is  a  baptismal 
font ;  the  fading  light  the  sacred  element;  the  Holy 
Spirit  is  breathed  upon  them  from  the  stillness 
overhead. 

There  were  no  words  from  either.  Words  were 
in  the  moving  trees,  in  the  early  stars,  in  the  fast- 
ness of  the  great  Tahawus,  in  the  waving  air. 
Everywhere  the  universe  was  vocal.  It  had  the 
sound  and  the  spirit  of  the  Beatitudes. 

"  You  would  rather  not  see  anyone,  Adrian, 
until  morning?"  ventured  Holly. 

"  It  would  be  better." 

"In  the  meantime Leona  and  Mr.  Marveley  shall 
know  all,  and  our  meeting  in  the  morning  will  be 
as  usual.  Good  night,  and  don't  stay  here  long.  I 
haven't  a  single  fear  for  you,  though.  For  it  was 
from  a  mountain  that  the  Brother  of  men  went 
down  to  the  furious  sea  and  its  frightened  prey  in 
the  fishers'  boat.  Calm  begets  calm.  So  vast  was 
His  repose  after  the  mountain-prayer,  that  nothing 
could  roar  or  surge  or  wreck  in  His  presence. 
So  much  greater  was  His  repose  after  the  sepulcher, 
that  even  the  riot  of  sin  grew  still  before  Him. 
Keep  to  the  repose  you  have  found,  and  you  shall 
be  a  soother  of  men.  Good-night." 

"  Good-night." 

Calm,  and  yet  astir  with  emotion  such  as  he  had 
never  known  even  in  dreams  before,  we  leave  him 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  181 

with  the  night,  so  like  him  in  its  repose,  yet  the 
energies  of  life  are  beating  doubly  quick  under  its 
shadows. 


"  This  is  the  Adirondack  Mountain  Reserve," 
explained  Berkeley,  as  they  drove  through  a  wide 
gate  early  the  next  morning,  paying  a  toll  of  one 
dollar  for  the  privilege.  "It  is  a  private  park  of 
twenty-two  thousand  acres  in  the  possession  of  an 
incorporated  syndicate.  They  have  made  an  ex- 
cellent drive-way  through  it  to  the  lower  Au  Sable 
pond,  three  miles  and  a  half.  They  have  cut  sev- 
eral trails  to  the  top  of  the  mountains ;  and  be- 
sides building  the  boat-house  we  shall  soon  see, 
they  have  stocked  the  lakes  and  streams  with  fish, 
intending  to  preserve  one  spot  untouched  by  com- 
mercial hands." 

Many  charming  views  were  had  as  they  rolled 
smoothly  along  over  the  solid  road.  The  woods  on 
the  right  hand  presented  a  peculiar  appearance. 
The  foliage  of  long,  slender  maples  and  poplars 
was  not  so  dense  as  that  of  the  pines,  but  gave  the 
sun  its  share  of  the  space.  As  a  result,  designs 
innumerable  of  quivering  shade  and  sun-color  were 
all  about  the  slopes.  It  seemed  like  some  prime- 
val palace  alight  for  the  return  of  its  regal  occu- 
pants. A  "  chasm,"  of  which  Berkeley  had  for- 
gotten the  name,  attracted  them  from  their  seats 
to  gaze  into  its  quiet  depths  of  water.  "  Stairway 


182  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

Falls  "  they  christened  a  broad  expanse  of  rock 
cut  away  in  steps  down  a  slight  decline,  with  a 
narrow  strip  of  flowing  carpet  lying  its  length. 
Leona  was  much  impressed  with  several  huge  rocks 
by  the  wayside,  upon  whose  bare  surface  trees 
stood.  They  did  not  get  their  life  from  the  rock, 
but  through  large  roots  which  ran  across  and  down 
on  all  sides  of  the  stone  into  the  ground. 

"  Of  what  do  they  remind  you,  Mr.  Marveley  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  Of  the  struggle  for  life  the  thousands  have  to 
make.  Their  barren  homes  do  not  seem  to  give 
them  sustenance  at  all,  but  over  the  rock  of  their 
poverty  you  will  find  the  roots  piercing  the  mould 
of  love  and  fellowship ;  not  always  of  high  order, 
to  be  sure,  but  it  is  better  than  nothing." 

One  of  these  was  so  odd  they  halted  to  examine 
it.  A  large  tree  growing  at  the  edge  of  the  rock 
had  broken  and  fallen  across  it.  A  branch  which 
pointed  down  its  side  had  imbedded  itself  in  the 
earth  and  become  a  root,  while  another  standing 
out  from  the  upper  surface  of  the  log,  had  grown 
straight  up  into  -a  slender  but  symmetrical  tree. 

"That,"  cried  Leona,  "is  an  illustration  of  the 
desperate  makeshifts  that  the  many  have  to  make. 
For  religion,  for  hope,  for  content,  the  natural 
roots  of  every  normal  life,  they  are  compelled  to 
distort  love  of  sick  children,  a  single  year's  steady 
employment  ahead,  and  satisfied  stomachs  once  a 
week.  And  yet  out  of  it  all  will  sometimes  grow 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  183 

a  slender  but  beautiful  life,  like  that  young  girl 
we  saw  in  the  city  last  week,  secretary  of  the  As- 
sociated Charities,  grown  from  a  ragged  tenement- 
rat  to  an  educated,  refined,  Christian  young 
woman,  helping  others.  But  oh,  how  rare!" 

"  There  is  the  lower  Au  Sable  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill,  with  the  boat-house  to  the  left,"  shouted 
Holly. 

"  And  that  must  be  Indian  Head  further  on  to  the 
left,  looking  up  the  lake,"  were  the  first  words 
Adrian  had  said  since  they  set  out,  beyond  the 
usual  morning  greetings.  They  had  respect  for 
his  silence  and  had  made  no  attempt  to  break  it. 

"  How  stern  he  looks,"  he  continued,  "  from  the 
profile  view,  as  though  angry  over  his  brutal  lone- 
liness. The  sole  remnant  of  a  race  whose  only 
history  lies  almost  obliterated  in  these  moun- 
tains." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marveley,  catching  the  fine  mood  of 
his  awakening  compatriot,  "  below  him  are  his 
three  watch  dogs  set  one  just  above  the  other  on 
the  rising  levels  of  the  hills.  In  the  rough,  but  a 
noble  design  for  a  master-piece  representing  the 
irony  of  fate — the  chief  and  his  dogs  waiting  the 
coming  of  justice  to  his  people.  The  very  vultures 
above  his  head  scream,  '  Too  late!  too  late ! ' ' 

"  Beyond  on  the  same  side  is  Mount  Colvin,  ris- 
ing two  thousand  feet  sheer  from  the  lakes.  But 
on  the  right  is  my  favorite  in  the  Keene  Valley, 
Mount  Ressagonia,  lying  the  full  length  of  the 


184  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION, 

ponds.  See  how  it  is  terraced,  tier  after  tier  of 
regular  buttresses.  Now  as  we  row  opposite  its 
broad  side,  look  straight  at  its  wealth  of  wood  and 
tell  me  what  you  see,"  commanded  Holly. 

"  Thousands  of  slender,  straight,  creamy- white 
columns,  supported  by  a  canopy  of  green." 

"Yes,  the  finest  growth  of  birch  I  have  ever 
seen.  Try  the  echoes,  Leona,  I  want  to  note  the 
difference  in  quality  between  yours  and  a  man's 
voice." 

She  uttered  a  sort  of  swelling,  crooning  strain, 
which  came  back  with  the  same  volume  and  tim- 
bre, a  second  Leona. 

"  I  wish  I  could  find  the  hidden  Leona  in  Ressa- 
gonia,"  sighed  Adrian  to  himself;  "I  would  not 
pledge  her  away  before  I  knew  whether  I  loved 
her  or  not." 

"  The  guide  has  something  for  us,  I  think.  He 
is  pulling  into  the  left  shore." 

"  Take  a  little  rest  up  here,  if  you  wish.  The 
famous  '  ice  cave. ' '  They  sprang  ashore.  "  I 
presume,"  calmly  said  Marveley,  "  these  huge 
rock  crevices  are  filled  with  ice  in  the  winter,  giv- 
ing it  its  queer  name." 

Holly  smiled  as  he  watched  them  climbing  the 
easy  ascent. 

"  Why,  how  cool  it  is,"  shouted  Leona,  as  Adrian 
gently  handed  her  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  deep 
cave. 

"  Freezing,"  cried  Marveley. 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  185 

"  Look  down,  and  you  will  understand,"  exhorted 
Holly. 

"  Oh,  I  see  piles  of  snow  and  ice,"  shivered  Le- 
ona. 

"  Yes,  for  generations,  probably  ;  perpetual  ice." 

From  balmy,  restful,  echoing  Au  Sable  to  frigid 
ice  caves,  and  at  a  single  step. 

"  Extremes  in  life  often  lie  closer  than  these," 
said  Adrian,  scarcely  conscious  he  was  being  so 
personal  or  so  revealing.  It  was  said  without  bit- 
terness, and  I  think  chiefly  with  an  eye  upon  the 
condition  of  the  society  he  was  so  soon  to  enter.  A 
new  quality  had  come  into  his  voice,  a  new  man- 
ner; a  sort  of  clinging  in  his  bearing  towards 
Leona.  He  did  not  know  it.  It  was  a  part  of  the 
new  relationship  he  had  determined  upon  for  them 
in  his  coming  work.  She  clung  to  his  hand  as  he 
helped  her  down  the  rocks,  and  into  the  boat,  so 
friendly,  as  though  begging  for  his  confidence, 
that  he  almost  forgot  everything  else  but  his 
resistless  yearning  to  tell  her  all  his  plans  and 
purposes.  It  was  later  than  two  o'clock  the  night 
before  when  he  sought  his  room.  Holly  knew  he 
would  not  leave  the  night  until  he  had  definitely 
fixed  the  future  in  his  own  mind.  Adrian  wondered 
if  he  could  tell  her  part  and  not  all.  Better  noth- 
ing than  to  violate  his  pledge. 

A  walk  of  a  mile  along  the  silver  thread  which 
connects  the  two  ponds  brought  them  to  the  upper 
Au  Sable.  Its  two  miles  of  water  reflect  some  fa- 


186  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

mous  piles :  Boreas,  Haystack,  Basin,  Saddleback, 
the  Gothics  andRessagonia.  Here  nature  seems  to 
have  rested  for  an  age,  leaving  her  tenderest  smile 
and  most  artistic  touch  upon  the  broken  surface 
of  the  earth. 

But  the  emotions  of  my  hero  are  too  strong  to 
keep  him  in  longer  silence,  even  on  silent  Au 
Sable.  The  light  lunch  is  ended.  Marveley  and 
Berkeley  are  smoking,  Adrian  and  Leona  have 
gone  by  common  impulse  to  a  huge  rock  over- 
hanging the  pond.  As  they  lean  over  its  edge 
they  can  see  their  forms  reflected  clearly  in  the 
deep  mirror. 

"  What  a  shadowy  picture  of  ourselves.  "Which, 
after  all,  is  real,  the  shadow  or  the  substance? 
Perhaps  we  saw  our  souls  then,  Leona  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  in  ill-concealed  astonishment. 
This  was  not  his  usual  style  of  opening  a  conversa- 
tion. Generally  it  was  by  jest,  or  some  keenly 
critical  remark  concerning  one's  self,  or  situation. 

"  I  hope  our  souls  are  not  out  of  us  to  stay." 

"  I  feel  as  though  mine  had  j  ust  entered  after  a 
frightfully  long  absence.  I  had  really  doubted 
sometimes  whether  I  had  any.  I  think  my  closing 
work  in  the  University,  a  birds-eye  view  of  all 
philosophies,  showing  a  general  convergence  to- 
wards the  Absolute  and  Immaterial,  and  then  a 
close  and  crutinizing  study  of  the  nature  of  Life 
and  its  relation  to  the  Infinite,  did  more  than  all 
the  sermons  I  ever  heard  to  make  me  understand 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  187 

that  if  there  is  no  soul  and  no  Absolute,  there  is 
not  anything;  then  our  very  senses  deceive  us; 
we  are  only  a  bundle  of  nerves;  when  the  band 
breaks  we  fall  apart  and  are  not.  But  I  shall 
worry  no  more  about  that.  I  am  convinced  so 
thoroughly  now,  that  I  know  a  single  human  life  is 
worth  more  than  the  whole  world." 

"And  this  is  my  old  friend  Adrian  talking  to 
me  ?  "  tenderly  smiled  Leona  up  to  his  face. 

"  Never  so  much  your  friend  as  now." 

"And  never  so  respected  and  cherished  as  now," 
she  responded. 

Already  he  had  found  what  he  had  set  out  to 
win  through  years.  Perhaps — but  no,  a  broken 
pledge  would  be  a  poor  beginning.  Then  it  was 
too  late  anyway.  Doubtless  this  very  happiness 
of  hers,  so  open  and  brotherly,  was  an  overflow 
from  some  deep  emotion  Marveley  had  set  in  mo- 
tion by  his  love. 

"  I  thank  you  for  that,  Leona.  There  is  a  world 
of  help  in  it  for  me.  May  I  lay  one  of  my  plans 
before  you? " 

"  Nothing  would  please  me  so  much." 

"  You  know  I  have  to  enter  the  lists  unarmed 
now.  I  had  intended  to  take  all  my  fortune  and 
expend  it  in  education  of,  and  in  homes  for,  the 
poor.  But  that  dream  is  past.  I  go  now  simply  a 
working-man  with  the  rest.  But  I  have  a  plan.  I 
shall  widen  the  circle  as  there  is  need." 

For  more  than  an  hour  he  talked  earnestly,  seri- 


188  A  DOUBLE  EEVELATIOX. 

ously,  almost  dramatically  at  times,  so  much  un- 
like himself,  that  Leona  could  only  wonder  as  she 
listened. 

"You  see,  its  central  fact  is  a  regard  for  all 
human  life.  A  hopeful  appreciation  of  what  life 
is,  and  can  become.  A  sort  of  practical  working 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  isn't  it  ?  'Life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness.'  It  is  evolu- 
tionary in  its  tendencies,  rather  than  revolutionary, 
and  yet  it  need  not  be  so  very  slow  in  bringing 
forth  results.  It  would  have  been  different  a  hun- 
dred years  ago.  The  age  is  ripe  for  it  now.  Do 
you  think  it  visionary  ? " 

"  I  never  heard  of  anything  more  practical,  or 
abounding  in  common  sense." 

"  Then  I  am  satisfied.  But,  Leona,  my  great  lack 
will  be  in  myself.  My  plan  will  succeed  in  time. 
Working-men  will  trust  me.  But  there  will  be 
days  when  I  shall  be  weary  and  ready  to  die  with 
the  suspense,  with  the  scorn  and  hatred  of  the  men 
whom  we  must  oppose.  Many  of  them  are  my 
own  friends,  who  never  will  comprehend  the  work. 
My  soul  cries  out  for  some  steady  hand,  some 
cheery  heart,  some  strong  companion." 

He  scarcely  knew  what  he  said.  He  was  like 
one  caught  talking  to  himself,  when  he  realized 
what  his  words  meant.  Something  in  Leona's  face 
alarmed  him.  He  sprang  to  her ;  but  she  smiled 
before  he  reached  her,  saying:  "It's  nothing.  I 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  189  • 

think  looking  at  the  water  has  made  me  dizzy. 
Let  us  go  down  now." 

What  did  it  all  mean  ?  Not  for  the  world  would 
he  have  said  what  he  had,  believing  that  it  could 
give  her  pain,  and  hurt  both  their  lives.  What 
could  he  have  been  thinking  about!  It  made  him 
almost  rudely  cold  as  he  walked  back  to  the 
luncheon  ground.  Leona  busied  herself  mechan- 
ically, as  Adrian  could  see,  putting  away  the  dishes 
and  preparing  for  their  return. 

It  was  rather  a  silent  little  group  on  the  home- 
ward way.  Marveley  was  thinking  of  another  se- 
cret which  he  had  not  let  even  these  dear  friends 
into  yet.  Berkeley  was  watching  Adrian  in  the 
seat  in  front  of  him,  wondering  what  he  would  do 
in  his  place,  and  smiling  to  himself,  half-amused, 
half-contented,  as  he  thought  of  the  "  second  revela- 
tion." Adrian  was  silent  between  two  moods.  One 
of  self-reproach  for  his  ill-timed  words.  The  other 
of  hope  for  his  plan.  It  was  not  all  his  own.  A 
little  coterie  of  them  at  the  University  had  often 
talked  it  over;  it  was  their  joint  property.  It  had 
been  only  an  ideal.  None  of  them  ever  dreamed 
of  advocating  it  seriously.  It  grew  out  of  a  debate  " 
on  political  parties.  It  looked  to  the  gradual 
eflfacement  of  every  issue  but  that  of  ill-paid  labor 
and  its  consequent  conditions.  It  was  just  such  a 
plan,  sprung  from  college  enthusiasm  and  stand- 
ards, as  Gladstone  would  have  wrought  out  had 
he  been  an  American  instead  of  an  English  states- 


190  A  DO  UDL E  HE  VELA  TION. 

man.  Adrian  was  wondering  now  if  he  could  get 
any  of  the  seven  others  in  the  original  band  to 
share  the  issue  with  him.  He  must  have  some  co- 
workers  soon,  for  the  plan  meant  a  personal  visit- 
ing of  every  one  hundred  workmen  in  the  country. 
He  had  that  morning  counted  over  his  private 
resources  and  discovered  that  nearly  live  thousand 
dollars  was  still  intact.  No  one  had  lost  but  him- 
self; he  was  under  no  obligation  to  restore  any- 
thing to  any  man.  With  that  sum  he  could  get 
his  work  well  underway,  he  thought.  Help  would 
come.  He  had  decided  to  ask  Leona  to  get  Mr. 
Marveley  interested  in  the  plan,  when  his  eager 
words  at  the  Pond  had  prevented.  If  only  he 
would  enter  with  him,  he  could  more  easily  endure 
his  own  great  loss. 

Leona  thought — well,  she  has  kept  them  close, 
very  close,  for  a  woman;  I  cannot  record  them. 

They  were  very  tired.  The  soft  beds  and  cool 
rooms  of  the  Inn  seemed  like  a  paradise  of  rest. 
What  realities  were  fashioned  in  dreams  before 
the  sun  rose,  I  cannot  say. 

They  were  all  aglow  with  the  morning's  glory, 
when  the  porter  shouted,  "  Stage  for  Lake  Placid." 

Down  the  valley,  then  to  the  west,  and  on  to  the 
beautiful  lakes,  they  were  carried.  They  crossed 
the  third  range  of  mountains  west  of  Lake  Cham- 
plain,  slowly  climbing  up,  until  at  an  elevation  of 
two  thousand  feet  they  suddenly  emerged  in  full 
view  of  Cascade  lakes  lying  between  Long  Pond 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  191 

Mountain  on  the  north  and  Pitch  Off  on  the  south. 
A  perfect  wilderness  of  crowding  hills  close  one  in 
at  this  point,  until  the  feeling  of  smallness  and 
utter  dependence  comes  to  even  the  bravest.  The 
lakes  are  long  and  very  narrow,  with  only  a  rivulet 
between.  On  the  right  is  the  Cascade  House,  a 
stroke  of  red  and  yellow  against  the  green  and 
gray.  Opposite  it,  a  cascade  falls  nearly  six  hun- 
dred feet  from  the  edge  of  the  wall-like  mountain, 
to  the  lake,  like  a  measuring-line. 

After  a  prolonged  rest  and  relished  refreshment, 
they  push  on  and  out  upon  the  broad  plain  of 
North  Elba,  coming  soon  within  the  horizon  which 
makes  Lake  Placid  so  famous.  For  the  first  time 
Mt.  Tahawus  comes  into  splendid  view.  The 
Gothics  lie  this  side  of  Tahawus  with  their  many 
queer  outlines,  the  '  Elephant's  Back '  clearly  dis- 
cerned. Then  Golden,  remarkable  for  its  abysses, 
and  great  Mclntyre,  between  which  and  Wall  Face 
the  Indian  Pass  links  the  west  with  the  east. 
What  a  trail  of  aboriginal  commerce  it  was  once ! 
What  a  desolation  now! 

Leaving  these  to  the  left  and  rear,  John  Brown's 
old  farm  conies  into  sight  along  the  Au  Sable  river, 
on  an  inviting  hill  summit,  where,  beneath  a  monu- 
mental boulder,  his  body,  but  not  his  marching 
soul,  lies. 

Then  the  great  hotels  of  Lake  Placid  came  into 
sight;  by-and-by  an  unsightly  little  village,  just 
before  reaching  the  loveliness,  serenity,  and  peace 


192  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

of  Mirror  arid  Placid  lakes,  restful  at  the  foot  of 
old  White  Face,  most  beautiful  and  most  loved  of 
all  the  Adirondacks.  White  Face  is  the  only 
mountain  that  smiles.  Its  broad  expanse  of  coun- 
tenance seems  to  greet  you  with  good  cheer  and  a 
royal  welcome  which  at  once  puts  you  in  a  good 
humor  and  gives  a  comfortable  home  feeling. 

"And  that  is  White  Face  ;  dear  old  grandfather. 
I  love  him  already,"  Leona  chirruped. 

"  No  matter  how  often  you  go  away,  or  how  long 
you  stay,  he  will  always  be  here  smiling  when 
you  come  back  ,  "  said  Holly.  "  Now  for  the  first 
time  I  really  feel  at  home.  A  good  supper,  a  ride 
on  Sweet  Mirror  lake,  small,  but  so  entrancing,  so 
wooing,  and  then  sleep  beneath  White  Face's 
watchful  eyes !  Oh,  this  is  life,  happiness,  wealth, 
everything ! " 

Even  Adrian  had  quit  eyeing  Leona  with  half 
scared  little  glances  in  an  attempt  to  read  her 
thoughts,  and  had  turned  to  the  wonderland  about 
them.  Away  to  the  south  the  great  barricade 
of  mountain  peaks  stands  insurmountable.  One 
forgets  first  the  world,  then  himself,  but  comes 
back  with  God  by  and  by,  to  self  and  to  the  world, 
a  new  creature. 

"  I  must  have  my  mail  the  very  first  thing," 
shouted  Marveley,  going  on  ahead  of  the  others 
into  the  hotel.  As  they  entered  later,  they  saw 
him  intently  reading  a  tinted  and  scented  little 
square  paper,  with  a  singular  but  silent  smile.  He 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  193 

looked  np  as  they  came  in,  and  put  it  away  care- 
fully in  his  inner  pocket  with  a  little  pat,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Quiet  my  heart  a  little  in  there,  if  you 
can." 

The  hour  was  late.  They  were  about  to  break 
the  little  group  into  its  constituent  atoms  for  rest. 
The  converse  had  been  high  and  strong.  First,  of 
books,  in  which  Adrian  had  shown  himself  a  mas- 
ter far  beyond  Marveley's  guesses,  and  often  be- 
yond his  range,  for  he  had  been  a  student  of  men 
rather  than  of  books.  Then  they  talked  of  the 
problems  of  the  hour.  Leona  had  drawn  Adrian 
out,  until,  diffused  with  warm  blood,  his  face  had 
shone  as  in  a  transfiguration,  as  little  by  little  he 
unfolded  his  plan.  It  was  marvelous  how  it  took 
hold  of  them — a  new  demonstration  of  his  power 
over  men.  Marveley  came  over,  and  extending  his 
hand,  said,  "  I  want  to  be  just  behind  the  origina- 
tor of  that  inspired  scheme  for  the  uplift  of  labor. 
Everything  I  have,  arid  can  do,  belongs  to  it  from 
this  hour." 

Adrian's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  of  glad  surprise. 
He  could  not  say  a  word.  Berkeley  promised  im- 
mediate aid.  Leona  alone  sat  apart,  silent.  What 
had  happened  ?  Had  he  been  too  bold  ?  Had  he 
told  them  secrets  she  wanted  kept  for  herself 
alone?  No,  she  was  not  a  selfish  woman.  But 
something  was  wrong.  There  was  a  half  terrified 
look  upon  her  face.  Then  it  came  to  him.  Mod- 
is 


194  A  DOUBLE  REVELATION. 

estly  he  thought  of  it ;  with  a  great  swell  of  joy  at 
first ;  and  then  a  quiver  of  dread.  She  doubtless 
had  promised  either  Holly  or  Marveley  to  receive 
the  latter's  suit  with  favor.  She  was  discovering 
now  too  late  that  it  was  a  mistake ;  that  her  life 
and  work  ought  to  be  with  Adrian. 

Just  then  Marveley  sat  down  again.  "As  this  is 
a  night  of  confidences,  I  have  one."  Taking  the  lit- 
tle fragrant  missive  from  his  pocket,  he  said,  "  I 
beg  leave  to  read  a  line  from  this.  It  is  from  a 
beautiful  young  woman  in  Boston,  whom  you  will 
all  love  some  day,  I  know.  She  is  an  artist,  but 
loves  the  race,  and,  the  strangest  part  of  it  all,  she 
loves — me.  And  in  answer  to  a  question  I  asked 
her  recently,  having  begged  time  for  a  decision, 
she  writes  very  sweetly  and  modestly,  as  follows  : 

"Dear  Eugene:  After  several  days  of  quiet  and 
calm  looking  within  and  without,  especially  upon 
your  face  upon  my  easel,  I  find  it  the  happiest  mo- 
ment of  my  life  when  I  write — will  it  make  you 
very  happy,  my  dear — that  little  word,  the  moun- 
tain peak  of  the  English  language — '  Yes.' 

"  HELENE." 

Oh,  joy !  oh,  rapture !  Life's  aglow.  There's 
warmth  and  hope  everywhere.  Oh,  to-morrow. 
All  things  are  good,  yea  and  forever! 

They  are  leaving  the  room  after  congratulations, 
and  a  second  good-night.  Adrian  still  standing  at 


A  DOUBLE  REVELATION.  195 

the  piano,  called  very  softly :  "  Leona,  can  you  stay 
a  moment  ? " 

"  Yes,  Adrian,  if  you  want  me." 

"  I  do." 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY. 

THEEE  were  voices  everywhere.  The  music  of 
the  crystals  underfoot  seemed  like  clear,  tinkling 
bells  to  the  merry  throngs  crossing,  turning  and 
parting  at  every  corner  of  the  streets.  Under  the 
glare  of  the  street  lamps  just  lighted,  the  convolu- 
tions of  the  great  crowds  at  these  center  points 
of  turning  seemed  like  some  splendid  spectacular 
phenomenon  of  the  stage. 

But  to  a  little,  old  man  who,  with  hanging  head 
and  knotted  brows,  impatiently  halted  until  a 
group  of  heedless  children  should  get  out  of  his 
way,  there  was  rhythm  neither  in  the  graceful 
throng,  nor  in  the  crystals.  The  latter  was  like 
the  sharp,  shrill  shrieking  of  discontent  and  rest- 
lessness ;  a  hissing,  jeering  insinuation,  reminding 
him  of  the  sneers  of  one  who  darts  a  suspicious 
glance  into  your  face,  hoping  to  take  you  un- 
awares. 

But  the  crystals  were  not  to  blame,  for  the  chil- 
dren's voices  were  not  more  musical  to  him.  They 
were  lisping  a  single  refrain.  Their  eyes,  their 
dancing  feet,  and  gracefully  gesturing  arms,  as 
well  as  their  birdling  voices,  were  all  singing. 
They  were  extemporizing  from  that  old  theme,  the 

(196) 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY.  197 

ground  of  all  the  music  of  childhood,  whether  of 
voice,  or  motion,  or  desire :  "  To-morrow,  oh,  how 
delightful !"  But  to  him  it  was  even  more  dis- 
cordant than  the  song  of  the  frost ;  he  could  grind 
under  his  feet  the  noisy  ice-singers.  The  other 
song  seemed  like  that  strange  key-note  every 
structure,  great  or  small,  is  said  to  have,  which  if 
prolonged  under  proper  conditions  will  set  the 
whole  mass  vibrating,  slightly  at  first,  until  after- 
wards it  sways  beyond  the  law  of  its  equilibrium 
and  falls.  It  is  not  sympathy  between  the  mass 
and  the  vibrating  string,  but  a  law  of  its  nature. 

To  this  nervous  old  man  it  was  exceedingly  dis- 
tressful ;  and  every  new  group  of  merry  little  ones 
he  encountered  shook  him  deeper,  until  in  wretched 
unrest  he  reached  his  own  door.  He  would  not 
admit  that  he  was  irresolute,  or  less  determined 
now  than  in  the  morning  of  this  u  day  before 
Christmas."  "  It  was  all  nonsense,  and  the  relic 
of  a  superstitious  barbarism  ;  the  remnant  of  a 
faith  which  civilization  was  having  some  difficulty 
to  remove  from  the  human  mind,  so  desperately  do 
these  fools  cling  to  their  savage  ancestry."  A 
philosopher?  Why  not?  Discontent  has  made 
the  greater  part  of  the  philosophy  of  every  age. 

Into  a  not  uncomfortable  house  did  the  heavy 
door  open  in  obedience  to  his  nervous  pushing; 
the  appointments  were  maintained  with  a  consid- 
erable degree  of  taste.  But  while  the  flameless 
fire  in  the  great  Westminster  did  all  it  could  under 


198  A  CHRISTMAS  STORY. 

the  dignity  of  a  scientific  process  of  burning  to 
brighten  up  the  rooms  into  which  the  shadow  of 
the  night  was  fast  creeping,  it  had  little  success. 

The  easy  elegance  which  half  slept  under  the 
steady  glow  of  the  anthracite  fire  did  nothing  to 
calm  the  irritation  which  had  unaccountably  pos- 
sessed him.  On  the  contrary,  it  made  him  remem- 
ber, in  spite  of  himself,  the  open  fire  on  the  hearth, 
of  his  distant  boyhood — distant  by  far  more  than 
intervening  years ;  distant  by  changed  thoughts 
and  broken  ideals,  and  immeasurably  distant  by 
reason  of  a  buried  faith,  from  whose  sepulchre 
rock  the  seal  had  not  been  broken  since  the  be- 
trayal, trial  and  crucifixion  of  that  spirit  of  trust 
given  him  in  the  very  pain-throes  of  birth,  in- 
spired by  every,  look  of  his  beautiful  young 
mother,  whose  only  life  had  been  her  boy  and  her 
unyielding  trust.  I  will  not  relate  how  a  Judas- 
like  love  of  money  brought  about  this  death 
within  him. 

When  by  his  command  the  gas  was  lighted,  and 
the  luxurious  comfort  of  the  room  aroused  itself 
and  did  its  best  to  welcome  and  cheer  him,  all 
a-glitter  with  life,  he  still  felt  no  better.  The  flash 
of  the  gas-light  from  the  many  jets  only  brought 
to  mind  the  flickering  candle-light  of  those  other 
distant  days.  He  saw  the  tall,  yellow  "  dip."  with 
the  miniature  lake  of  fuel  at  its  summit,  which 
was  constantly  pumped  into  the  flame  to  feed  its 
quiet  burning,  by  the  currents  which  played 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY.  199 

about  the  slowly-consumed  wick — the  puzzle  of 
his  boyhood.  Its  rich,  yellow  light,  not  dazzling 
but  mild,  bathed  table  and  ancient  books,  spin- 
ning-wheel and  sanded  floor  in  a  wave  of  soft 
illumination,  until  now,  as  he  recalled  it,  with  the 
face  of  his  mother  in  the  midst  of  it,  it  seemed 
like  the  picture  of  some  German  master,  the 
sweet-faced  woman  its  glory,  about  whom  the  can- 
dle-light played,  a  halo  of  blessed  hallowing. 

Then  there  was  the  first  Christmas  of  his  recol- 
lection. They  had  placed  the  candle  on  the  table 
but  had  not  yet  lighted  it.  They  were  content, 
she  and  he,  in  the  milder  baptism  of  the  wood- 
flame.  His  head  had  lain  upon  her  knee,  as  he 
sat  on  the  low  stool  at  her  side,  feeling  the  pres- 
sure of  her  warm  clinging  arm  around  him.  He 
had  gazed  into  the  slowly  dying  flames  with  that 
fixed  stare  which  so  irresistibly  possesses  one  be- 
fore an  open  fire,  while  his  quick  imagination 
peopled  the  hearth  with  the  heroes  and  heroines 
of  the  delightful  old-fashioned  story  she  was  tell- 
ing him. 

After  a  long  silence,  he  had,  without  taking  his 
eyes  from  the  fire,  or  moving  his  head  from  its 
resting  place,  softly  asked  her  to  tell  him  once 
more  the  story  of  the  baby  Christ.  As  her  voice 
grew  low  arid  gentle,  but  trembling  with  the 
pathos  of  her  great  mother-heart,  as  she  thought 
of  Mary  in  the  Judean  inn,  so  needy,  in  so  trying 
an  hour,  he  pictured  it  all  in  the  coals  and  pieces 


200  A  OSSISTMA8  STOUT. 

of  charred  wood.  Yonder  in  the  far  corner  of  the 
fire-place,  where  the  shadows  lay  deep,  he  fancied 
the  shepherds  were  silently  watching ;  a  number 
of  burnt-out  coals,  white  with  their  ashes,  were 
the  sleeping  sheep.  Suddenly  a  "chunk"  falling 
from  its  place,  against  the  iron,  sent  up  a  bright 
flame  for  a  moment,  that  shone  far  into  the  dark 
corner,  and  started  the  shepherds  to  their  feet.  In 
the  blue  tips  of  the  flame  he  could  see  the  dim 
outlines  of  angels'  faces,  while  the  lengthening, 
waving  and  turning  flames  seemed  to  make  long 
folds  like  the  robes  he  had  always  imagined  the 
angels  wore.  It  needed  but  the  rising  wind  with- 
out, to  make  the  music  for  them,  and  angels  and 
chorus  of  song  were  all  there. 

Then  he  had  turned  his  eyes  to  the  other  corner 
of  the  hearth  where  it  was  still  darker.  There,  he 
thought,  stood  the  inn  where  the  babe  was  born. 
Three  huge  coals,  lying  out  alone  from  the  fallen 
"chunk,"  were  the  three  wise  men  seeking  the 
new-born  King.  He  had  only  to  shut  his  eyes 
tight  to  see  the  wondrous  star  hanging  over  the 
dark  corner,  and  the  three  bright  coals  moving 
closer  and  closer.  He  had  lain  there  a  long  time 
with  his  eyes  shut,  when  the  dark  corner  grew 
strangely  bright  and  beautiful ;  he  saw  the  babe 
in  its  mother's  arms,  like  the  picture  in  the  big 
Bible,  and  the  wise  men  with  their  arms  full  of  the 
most  lovely  presents.  He  thought  the  mother 
looked  so  happy,  and  the  child  so  wise,  as  if  he 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY.  201 

knew  all  that  was  said  and  done,  when  suddenly 
he  heard  his  own  mother's  voice  close  down  at  his 
ear.  calling  his  name  gently.  He  had  fallen  asleep 
while  she  talked.  He  shivered  as  he  awoke,  for 
the  room  had  grown  cold. 

And  now  under  the  gas-light  and  fire-glow  of  his 
splendid  home,  the  old  shivering  came  back  upon 
him,  just  as  the  other  memories  had  come,  only 
the  strange  trembling  was  more  real.  He  tried  to 
steady  himself  against  the  great  chair  in  which  he 
sat,  but  a  hot  flush  in  his  face,  and  his  trembling 
hands,  told  him  something  was  wrong. 

"  Must  have  worked  too  hard  at  the  books  to- 
day," he  muttered.  "That  confounded  book- 
keeper has  got  'em  into  a  muddle  that  is  enough 
to  give  anybody  a  nervous  chill."  He  managed  to 
get  to  his  own  room,  and  ringing  for  his  servant, 
gave  directions  for  his  relief. 

As  he  had  entered  the  door  earlier  in  the  even- 
ing, a  fluttering  dress  might  have  been  seen  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  And  let  me  tell  you  before 
you  guess  it,  that  it  belonged  to  as  beautiful  a 
child  as  ever  called  a  cross  old  man  "grandpa." 
Her  face  glowed  like  a  bunch  of  roses  whenever 
she  could  win  a  caress  from  him,  for  somehow  she 
loved  him  in  spite  of  his  crustiness.  He  always 
seemed  to  be  troubled  about  something,  and  she 
never  blamed  him  for  anything  he  did.  Such  faith 
do  children  have  in  us  in  spite  of  ourselves.  For 
a  half  hour  she  had  been  peeping  from  the  turn  in 


202  A  CSSISTMAB  STORY. 

the  winding  stairway,  to  see  "if  grandpa  had  any 
bundles  when  he  came  in."  Something  in  the  way 
the  door  was  pushed  open  told  her  he  had  none, 
and  she  just  succeeded  in  getting  out  of  sight  as 
he  entered. 

"Well,"  she  declared,  "if  he  had  just  brought 
one  tiny  little  bundle  I  would  have  forgiven  him 
all  he  said  about  Cousin  Ben  and  Christmas,  this 
morning ;  but  now,  well — oh,  I  suppose  I  will  have 
to  give  it  to  him,  but  I  don't  believe  he  will  ever 
look  at  it,  or  at  me  either.  Bat  then  I  know  he  is 
feeling  bad  about  something,  for  Uncle  Jo  said 
something  was  going  wrong  in  grandpa's  accounts 
down  town.  Oh,  dear,  I  hope  his  bookkeeper  won't 
catch  the  absconda — something,  I've  forgotten  now 
what  it  is,  and  have  to  be  sent  away  to  Canada, 
like  the  one  at  Jennie  May's  papa's  bank.  That 
was  just  awful ;  and  what  if  grandpa  should  get  it 
too,  oh,  dear!"  beginning  to  relent  already. 

Just  then  her  mamma  called  her — for  she  and 
her  mamma  and  brother  Gilbert  lived  with  her 
grandpa,  to  "make  home  for  him,"  as  she  ex- 
pressed it.  She  called  her  to  come  down  stairs, 
for  grandpa  was  not  feeling  very  well,  and  had 
asked  for  her. 

"Asked  for  me?"  and  her  bright  eyes  danced, 
while  she  almost  forgot  his  sickness  in  the  joy  of 
being  "asked  for."  She  started  to  throw  a  strand 
of  gold  beads  about  her  neck,  but  remembering 
that  they  were  his  only  Christmas  present  to  her, 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY.  203 

she  was  afraid  lie  might  take  it  as  a  hint  for 
another.  She  rushed  away  without  them  to  the 
room  her  grandpa  called  his  own,  and  was  ready 
to  say  something  cheerful  to  him  as  she  pushed 
the  door  open  gently,  to  "  take  him  by  surprise;" 
but  when  she  saw  his  pale  face,  as  he  sat  propped 
up  in  bed,  he  looked  so  tired  and  worn,  and  full 
of  pain,  that  she  caught  her  breath,  and  tip-toeing 
towards  him,  almost  sobbed,  as  hard  as  she  tried 
not  to. 

He  opened  his  eyes  feebly,  as  she  came  up  to 
his  side,  and  putting  out  his  hand  drew  her  to 
him.  Never  could  she  remember  such  a  mark  of 
affection  from  him.  It  touched  her  so  that,  half 
frightened  as  she  was,  she  hid  her  face  in  the 
great  white  pillow  beside  his,  yellow  and  wrinkled 
with  a  lifetime  of  hard  thinking,  and  sobbed  pite- 
ously. 

He  spoke  to  her  gently,  saying  he  was  not  very 
ill ;  that  he  would  be  up  and  around  to-morrow ; 
that  it  was  Christmas  eve,  and  he  guessed,  if  the 
porter  at  the  office  didn't  forget  it,  there  would  be 
a  box  brought  up  before  morning ;  he  didn't  know 
just  what  all  was  in  it,  but  he  guessed  it  was 
something  good  little  girls  with  blue  eyes  would 
like,  if  a  certain  good  little  girl  didn't  rub  her 
eyes  too  hard. 

"Oh,  grandpa,  I  am  so  sorry — but  I  can't  tell 
you  about  it ;  I  thought  maybe  you  wouldn't — you 
hadn't;  no,  I  did  not  think  anything  of  the  kind. 


204  A  CHRISTMAS  STOEY. 

Something  else  thought  it,  I  didn't,  so  there.  I 
knew  all  the  time  you  were  the  best  grandpa  in 
the  whole  world." 

A  sudden  paroxysm  of  pain  forced  a  moan  from 
him  as  she  finished  speaking.  A  pain  in  both  his 
hearts,  but  that  in  the  inner  heart  was  the  keener 
of  the  two,  and  lasted  much  longer.  She  was  too 
alarmed  to  speak,  bat  he  patted  her  hand,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  It  will  be  over  in  a  moment."  To  her 
question,  if  she  should  call  her  mamma,  he  shook 
his  head.  After  a  moment  he  inclined  his  head 
toward  her  on  the  pillow,  and  half  whispered: 
"  Tell  me  about  Christmas,  Enie ;  do  you  love  it?" 

"Love  it,  grandpa  ?     Indeed  I  do." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

She  was  more  than  alarmed  at  his  queer  .look, 
but  being  a  brave  little  body,  she  tried  to  answer 
him.  She  was  about  to  say,  "  Because  I  find  out 
how  much  everybody  loves  me  then,"  when  it 
seemed  to  her  that  would  be  out  of  place  now. 
She  thought  of  the  Christ  story  she  had  so  often, 
read,  and  dreamed  about,  but  somehow  she  had 
always  been  afraid  to  speak  to  him  about  Christ. 
She  stopped  a  moment,  as  if  to  analyze  her  new 
feeling,  for  it  seemed  just  right  to  speak  to  him 
to-night.  After  looking  closely  at  his  face,  for  the 
light  was  turned  low,  to  see  if  his  eyes  were  open, 
and  finding  them  closed,  she  rested  her  head 
against  his  hand,  as  if  to  think  the  better,  and 
began : 


A  CHRISTMAS  STORY.  205 

"Oh,  so  many  years  ago,  long  before  your 
grandpa  was  born,  I  guess,  a  little  child  was  born 
across  the  ocean.  Some  shepherds  heard  about  it, 
from  a  band  of  singing  angels,  and  were  so  glad 
that  they  began  to  sing,  and  ran  to  find  Him,  for  it 
seems  they  had  been  expecting  Him  for  a  great 
many  years,  although  I  don't  exactly  understand 
how  they  could  know.  And  they  were  so  glad, 
that  when  Christinas  comes,  for  He  was  born  on 
Christmas,  you  see,  I  always  feel  glad  too.  There 
is  a  song  in  one  of  my  books  about  it,  and  I  always 
sing  it  now  on  Christmas  morning." 

"Won't  you  sing  it  now?"  he  asked. 

She  sang  for  him  in  that  sweet,  pleading  voice 
of  childhood  the  first  verse  of  "  On  Judean  Hills 
Afar." 

Had  the  light  been  brighter  she  could  have  seen 
the  tears  running  down  his  cheeks,  but  she  went 
on :  "They  brought  Him  presents,  because  He  was 
a  present  to  them  from  God.  I  can't  quite  under- 
stand why  God  should  have  taken  Him  away  from 
them  so  soon,  but  mamma  says  it  was  to  make 
them  love  Him  more ;  that  they  were  cruel  to  Him 
while  He  lived,  but  that  after  He  died  they  began 
to  love  Him  still  better." 

"Yes,  they  loved  Him  when  it  was  too  late  to  do 
Him  any  good,"  muttered  the  old  man  to  himself. 

"  But  the  Bible  says  it  did  them  good,  after  all, 
to  love  Him,  for  His  Father  has  a  great  house  with 


206  A  CHRISTMAS  STOUT. 

thousands  •  of  rooms,  one  for  everybody  who 
comes  to  live  there." 

"  Yes,  room  enough  for  those  who  love  Him ;  yes, 
we  ought  to  love  Him — He  is  merciful,"  speaking 
to  himself  in  a  feeble  tone. 

"And  that  is  the  reason  why  I  love  Christmas, 
don't  you,  grandpa?  Don't  you,  grandpa?"  she 
repeated. 

"I  guess  he  is  asleep.  I'll  call  mamma;"  and 
she"  stole  out  of  the  room,  not  knowing  she  had 
been  a  gracious  present  to  him  on  that  strange 
Christmas  eve. 

He  had  known  the  Nazarene  Christ  in  his  early 
years,  when  his  mother  still  lived ;  let  us  hope  his 
head  rested  again  upon  her  bosom,  her  arms  about 
him,  and  that  the  fire-fancies  glowed  and  bright- 
ened into  the  great  Christ-Land,  as  a  child,  long 
wandering  and  long  forgetful,  returns  to  the  old 
homestead  to  die.  God  is  merciful,  and  child- 
hood winning. 


ODUNA. 

WHERE  the  majestic  Mississippi  bends  with  a 
great,  sweeping  curve  towards  the  Illinois  forests, 
just  below  the  little  village  of  Okoth,  some  miles 
south  of  Quincy,  is  a  little  old  colony  of  "New 
Yorkers."  Fifty  or  sixty  years  ago  they  came  to 
this  river-bend,  and  took  it  by  the  might  of  a 
squatter's  sovereignty.  Some  of  those  who  were 
children  then  have  grandchildren  now,  and  feel  a 
sort  of  kinship  with  the  old  river  whose  mid-chan- 
nel currents,  heedless  and  strong  as  death,  have 
stopped  not  in  all  the  years,  whether  marked  by 
birth,  marriage  or  unwakeful  sleep. 

It  is  a  magnificent  view  which  stretches  out 
before  a  little  group,  on  the  morning  of  which  this 
tale  relates.  The  great,  matchless  river  goes  hur- 
rying by,  far  out  in  its  age-worn  channel,  sending 
into  the  shore,  as  its  only  recognition  of  other  life 
than  its  own,  little  ripples  of  faint  laughter  that- 
waste  into  sighing  on  the  pebbled  beach.  To  the 
innocent  children  these  wavelets  smile,  winning 
and  friendly,  as  they  yield  their  soft,  plump,  little 
feet  to  their  embraces ;  but  to  the  two  or  three  old 
men  still  living  from  the  original  settlement,  it 

(207) 


208  ODUNA. 

seems  like  the  mesmeric  smile  of  a  demon,  the 
Mephistopheles  of  the  great  valley. 

They  never  forget  his  fierce,  revengeful  moods, 
when  the  long,  dashing  rains  lash  and  prick  him 
into  fury,  arousing  his  winter-cooled  ire,  until  he 
hurls  himself  down  his  path,  boiling  and  roaring, 
heaving,  in  angry  breathings,  his  coritortioned 
body  further  and  further  inland,  seeking  for  vic- 
tims with  whom  to  appease  his  wrath.  His  rage 
seldom  subsides  until  his  passion  has  been 
glutted. 

On  this  day  the  oldest  of  the  ancient  men  sits 
in  a  deep  reverie.  His  head  is  bowed  upon  both 
his  hands,  clasped  over  his  old  hickory  staff;  he 
hears  not  even  the  prattle  of  the  children  at  his 
feet.  Indeed,  his  favorite,  a  little  girl,  with  eyes 
so  strange  and  yet  so  winning  that  one  at  first 
starts  back,  and  then  comes  at  once  to  touch  her, 
fails  to  catch  his  glance,  though  she  tries  more 
than  once  to  have  him  look  upon  her. 

He  lifts  his  face  at  last,  but  a  film  of  tears  hides 
all  but  the  river ;  it  seems,  through  his  sorrowful 
veil,  to  stretch  itself  into  some  slimy,  threatening 
monster,  from  whom  he  would  fly,  but  cannot. 
His  thoughts  are  running  back  through  the  years, 
more  swiftly  than  a  bird  flies  back  to  its  nest 
before  the  storm.  He  had  again  noticed,  as  they 
sat  upon  the  rock  that  morning,  a  peculiar  look  in 
the  face  of  the  girl.  It  came  to  him  for  the  first 


ODUNA.  209 

time  just  the  day  before.  He  wondered  now  that 
"he  had  not  seen  it  long  ago. 

She  was  his  great-grandchild;  her  father  had 
been  the  eldest  son  of  his  only  daughter,  and  he 
was  just  discovering  that  she  was  taking  on  the 
form  and  actions,  indeed,  the  very  features  of  the 
woman  who  was  once  his  babe,  his  tender  girl,  and 
at  the  last  the  very  affection  of  his  heart.  The 
child's  face,  and  a  long  scar  on  his  own  cheek,  of 
which  a  few  moments  before  he  had  caught  a  fee- 
ble reflection  in  a  shell  filled  with  water,  which 
she  had  held  up  to  his  lips,  laughingly  begging 
him  to  drink,  had  borne  him  back  as  waves  bear  a 
disabled  ship  back  to  the  dangerous  shore,  from 
whence  it  sailed.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
returned  and  was  fighting  with  the  perils  he 
remembers  now  better  than  the  events  of  yester- 
day. 

When  Oduna,  his  daughter, — the  child  bore  the 
same  name — was  sixteen,  she  met,  on  a  great  fete 
day,  a  young  soldier,  a  proud,  overbearing, 
haughty,  handsome  boy  of  twenty-one.  She  loved 
him,  gentle  as  she  was,  because  he  was  so  daring, 
so  defiant ;  but  she  loved  him  chiefly  because  he 
could  be  so  tender  to  her.  His  proud  form  bent 
gracefully  to  caress,  and  hot  words  died  away  into 
gentlest  whispers  when  she  came  near  him,  such  a 
spell  does  love  hold  over  its  own.  She  was  a 
beautiful  girl,  not  queenly,  nor  stately,  but  beau- 

14 


210  ODUNA. 

tiful  with  the  grace  of  winning  ways  and  a  lovely 
face.  She  stood  always,  innocently,  with  a  poise 
of  dependence  and  helplessness  that  made  her  ad- 
mirers her  defenders  at  once.  Her  blue  eyes  were 
like  deep,  living  crystals,  warm  and  wooing. 

Her  father  saw  only,  the  scornful,  lofty  bearing 
of  the  young  soldier;  thus  do  men  conceal  them- 
selves from  each  other.  In  his  uniform  he  unques- 
tionably looked  a  fearless,  and  one  might  guess,  a 
reckless  youth.  Such  a  contrast  was  there  between 
him  and  the  gentle  Oduna,  that  the  father  trem- 
bled for  her  happiness  when  he  saw  how  fond  of 
him  she  was  becoming.  He  sought  with  a  few 
wise  words  to  turn  her  heart  from  him  before  it 
should  b«  too  late.  But  it  was  too  late  even  as  he 
spoke ;  she  had  pledged  herself  to  her  lover,  and 
she  was  as  firm  as  she  was  affectionate,  in  spite  of 
her  mild  manner.  She  told  her  father  confidently 
all  she  hoped  from,  and  believed  of  her  hero,  until 
at  last  he  gave  reluctantly  his  consent — not  con- 
sent, for  that  he  never  gave — but  he  offered  no 
denial  when  together  they  asked  his  favor.  Most 
lovingly  did  he  bless  them  after  the  long  service 
at  the  old  church-altar  was  finished. 

They  began  their  journey  at  once  to  the  West  in 
company  with  a  number  of  friends  and  relatives. 
They  took  up  their  way,  sad  to  leave  so  much  be- 
hind, but  glad  with  a  great  hope  for  the  future. 
Into  the  trustful  heart  of  Oduua  came  the  best  and 
most  precious  hopes,  looking  to  the  new  home 


ODUNA.  211 

somewhere  in  the  great  valley  toward  which  they 
were  slowing  moving.  Her  soldier  husband  had 
given  up  his  army  life  with  all  his  ambitions  to 
become  a  leader  of  men,  and  gave  a  willing  hand, 
with  much  good  cheer,  to  the  preparation  for  the 
journey;  long  on  the  way,  he  was -guide  and 
scout  for  the  whole  party,  fearful  of  no  foe,  and 
dauntless. 

The  elements  of  our  poor  human  nature  are 
strangely  blended.  So  strong  in  danger,  so  ready 
in  battle,  after  the  first  few  weeks  of  the  monot- 
onous journey  wore  away,  when  to  be  the  guide  of 
a  peaceable  company  of  emigrants  no  longer 
seemed  so  great  a  lot,  and  missing  the  comrade- 
ship and  cheer  of  the  camp,  the  impetuous  youth, 
became  less  companionable,  and  more  silent  and 
moody,  almost  to  sullenness.  There  was  no  change 
in  his  treatment  of  Oduna.  I  doubt  if  there  ever 
should  have  been.  But  to  all  others  he  seemed 
impatient,  discontented,  and  given  to  taking  his 
own  course  in  a  masterful  way.  Often  did  they 
yield  to  him  in  the  face  of  their  better  judgment, 
fearful  to  awaken  something  that  lay  hidden  within 
him,  half  slumbering  but  alive. 

Whether  or  not  it  was  a  fascination  is  hard  to 
determine,  but  his  new  bearing  pleased  Oduna ; 
she  believed  him  always  in  the  right,  and  fought 
his  battles  with  a  strange  persistence.  It  may 
have  been  that  she  saw  in  him  qualities  unrevealed 
to  others ;  at  least,  she  believed  him  born  for  a 


212  ODUNA. 

stormy  and  fateful  life  among  his  peers,  and  not 
thus  to  waste  his  energies  among  peaceful  men 
and  timid  women.  I  do  not  know  what  spirit  of 
war  and  command  came  into  the  world  with  his 
birth,  and  can  only  dream  of  what  he  might  have 
done  had  his  fate  been  tried  on  heroic  fields.  To- 
gether the  gloomy  leader  and  his  yielding  bride 
were  drifting  away  from  the  little  company ;  more 
and  more  they  talked  alone,  and  sadder  grew  the 
face  of  the  father,  who  now  believed  he  had  fore- 
seen all  this  from  the  first.  He  lost  none  of  his 
love  for  Oduna,  but  watched  over  her  with  jealous 
care. 

All  days  of  their  journey  were  much  alike ;  in- 
deed, the  only  variety  was  in  the  changing  mood 
of  their  half-feared  leader.  One  day  had  seemed 
longer  than  the  others  by  his  increased  sullenness, 
and  the  heart  of  the  father  had  felt  unusually 
lonely  as  he  watched  Oduna  clinging  to  her 
estranged  husband  more  closely  than  ever,  as  they 
lingered  just  behind  in  the  darkening  shadows  of 
the  oncoming  twilight.  The  company,  wandering 
aimlessly,  had  stopped  beside  a  small  stream, 
swollen  by  recent  floods,  thinking  to  camp  for  the 
night,  and  hunt  for  a  safer  ford  by  the  morning 
light.  But  their  now  reckless  leader  urged  them 
to  cross  at  once  to  the  higher  ground  on  the  oppo- 
site shore. 

His  proposition  met  with  such  evident  disap- 
proval as  to  madden  him  He  declared  that  he 


ODUNA.  213 

would  cross  it  to  show  them  what  cowards  they 
were.  The  stream  was  narrow,  and  for  this  reason 
dangerous.  But  he  would  brook  no  interference, 
and  turning  to  Oduna  he  commanded,  with  ringing 
voice,  "  Come  with  me." 

For  the  first  time  she  hesitated,  and  turned  pale. 
She  glanced  up  at  her  father,  who  shook  his  head, 
as  if  glad  to  test  his  power  over  her  with  her 
husband's. 

"  I  dare  not,"  she  replied. 

u  I'll  do  the  daring,  you  follow  me." 

The  words  were  not  harsh,  but  they  were  full  of 
his  native  power,  and  I  doubt  if  any  man  in  the 
company  would  have  dared  stand  still  had  he 
been  addressed  in  the  same  way.  Her  father,  hop- 
ing to  settle  the  matter,  pleaded  that  the  horse  was 
not  a  safe  one,  that  water  always  made  him  frantic. 
Without  answering  he  rode  to  her  side,  and  with 
one  arm  lifted  her  to  his  knee.  The  very  strength 
of  his  arm  gave  her  such  assurance  that,  had  she 
looked  into  the  very  eyes  of  death,  she  would  have 
had  no  fear.  She  leaned  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder,  sobbing  under  the  nervous  strain,  and 
the  pain  of  her  father's  cold  disapproval  and 
astonishment. 

The  nervy  horse,  prancing  as  though  eager  for 
the  struggle,  plunged  into  the  stream.  Those  on 
the  shore  were  too  surprised  to  make  any  resist- 
ance, and  silently  let  them  go  splashing  down  into 
the  river.  It  had  deceived  them  all  as  to  its  depth 


214  ODUXA. 

and  current.  Long  before  the  horse  reached  the 
center  of  the  stream,  they  could  see  that  it  was 
being  borne  down  by  the  current  against  its  will. 
It  was  out  of  its  depth,  and  could  not  swim  against 
so  strong  a  force,  weighted  as  it  was  with  its  pre- 
cious burden.  Its  quick  pantings  could  be  dis- 
tinctly heard;  snorts  of  fear  were  followed  by  a 
shriek  of  terror,  terribly  human,  as  it  struggled 
madly  with  the  stream,  keenly  feeling  its  respons- 
ibility. All  stood  speechless,  spellbound,  save  the 
father,  who,  running  down  the  river,  came  abreast 
of  the  plunging  horse.  He  could  hear  Oduna's 
moans  above  the  noisy  flow  of  the  water.  Call- 
ing to  her  in  firm  tones  not  to  give  up,  he  kept  be- 
side them.  Suddenly  they  came  to  a  bend  in  the 
river  where  the  current  rushed  in  close  to  the  shore 
before  shooting  on  down  the  long  channel.  The 
poor  horse  had  been  bravely  fighting  to  keep  its 
feet  down,  but  this  sudden  change  in  the  course  of 
the  river  sent  it  side-long  to  the  shore.  The  riders 
still  clung  to  the  saddle-straps.  The  night  had 
come  on  swiftly ;  out  of  the  parting  clouds  shone 
the  early  moon,  and  its  soft  gleams  wreathed  about 
the  white  face  of  the  soldier-boy,  so  loved,  so 
feared,  a  halo  of  silvery  light  his  only  chaplet,  as 
he  fought  with  death,  an  unequal  battle,  not  for 
himself,  but  for  his  loved  Oduna. 

To  the  father  he  seemed  to  grow  cowardly  weak, 
but  the  gray  eye-witness  who  told  me  the  story, 
said  he  believed  the  boy's  heart  burst  with  the 


ODUNA.  215 

awful  fight,  for,  in  an  instant  his  arm  relaxed,  and 
he  slipped  away  from  the  shore  and  his  beautiful 
wife  as  silently  and  as  swiftly  as  an  arrow  from  the 
bow.  Oduna,  unconscious  of  her  husband's  fate, 
after  an  instant  loosed  her  hold,  and  with  a  moan 
threw  up  her  white  hands  as  if  praying  for  help ; 
rising  and  falling  on  the  waves,  she  sank  once, 
twice,  then  rose  again  a  little  farther  down  the 
river. 

The  friends  had  gathered  near  the  spot  by  this 
time,  distraught  by  their  powerlessness  to  help. 
The  desperate  father  alone  grasped  the  situation. 
He  saw  that  she  had  been  thrown  towards  the 
shore,  and  leaped  in  fearlessly.  He  struck  his 
head  against  a  jutting  rock.  So  intense  was  his 
emotion  that  he  imagined  the  shock  to  be  merely 
the  force  of  the  water.  He  bore  the  scar  always. 
As  he  came  up  he  clutched  at  and  finally  grasped 
an  overhanging  limb,  just  within  his  reach,  on 
account  of  the  high  water.  From  it  he  could  reach 
the  white  hand  beating  despairingly  against  the 
water.  He  drew  his  lost  child  near  him  until  to- 
gether they  were  helped  ashore. 

As  he  lifted  her  from  the  water,  it  seemed  to 
cling  to  her,  and  gurgle  about  the  spot  where  last 
it  held  her,  as  hounds  moan  and  sigh  over  a  lost 
trail. 

The  night  was  a  long  and  a  dreary  one  with  its 
watching  and  its  loss.  The  camp  missed  its  fierce 
and  moody  leader. 


216  ODUNA. 

By  dawn  Oduna  was  able  to  ride  in  one  of  the 
covered  wagons,  propped  up  with  pillows.  But 
how  pale  was  her  face,  how  sad  her  eyes,  no  word 
can  tell,  for  the  black  steed  and  its  rider,  her 
proud,  daring  soldier-boy,  had  gone  with  the  cruel 
current  to  the  ocean,  where  haply  he  would  find 
some  point  of  equipoise  in  mid-sea,  and  rest  at 
last  in  horrible  calm,  as  do  sunken  vessels. 

It  seemed  to  Oduna  that  her  heart  had  washed 
out  to  some  great  ocean  and  was  hanging  in  a 
calm,  to  break  which  would  be  the  happiest  relief. 
No  tears,  no  words,  no  rest,  nothing  above,  nothing 
beneath,  nothing  about  her,  yet  held  by  some 
intangible  force,  and  crushed  with  it  all. 

Ere  long  they  reached  their  destination  on  the 
Mississippi,  where  Oduna  lay  looking  ever  toward 
the  great  river.  It  seemed  so  majestically  quiet  in 
its  great  course. 

It  was  late  in  the  fall  when  her  fatherless  babe 
was  born ;  the  river  was  full  of  the  fall  floods,  and 
its  roar  was  sullen  and  incessant.  It  filled  her 
with  painful  unrest;  she  had  looked  into  the 
babe's  face  but  a  few  times  until,  at  last,  with  the 
river's  increased  noise  and  lashing,  as  it  crept 
farther  up  the  dikes,  the  deathly  calm  was  broken, 
and  in  a  breaking  up  of  her  heart's  great  fountains 
her  soul  went  down  the  current  of  that  other  stream 
whose  ocean  is  the  Eternal,  and  where  the  calm  is 
Best. 

The  boy  had  always  a  sad  look  in  his  face,  a 


ODUNA.  217 

sad,  far-away  look.  Little  Oduna  came  to  cheer 
him  at  last  in  his  manhood,  as  she  is  no.w  trying 
to  cheer  the  old,  old  man  out  on  the  rock.  To  her 
life  is  glad,  and  the  waves  come  dancing  in  like 
children  at  play ;  but  to  him  the  river's  music  is 
ever  a  sad  wail  of  lost  love  and  death. 

It  sobs,  and  his  failing  ears  catch  th  sound 
coming  in  on  every  wave,  "  Oduna,  Oduna,"  just 
as  he  had  heard  the  soldier-boy  cry  out  that  night 
so  long  ago,  when  he  was  so  cruelly  parted  from 
his  bride  ;  calling  as  if  pleading  for  forgiveness  for 
his  overmasterful  spirit,  ere  he  should  sink. 

"Oduna,  Oduna." 

His  tear-dimmed  eyes  see  no  white  sail  out  on 
the  river,  only  the  black  steed  and  the  moon-kissed, 
white  face  of  the  soldier,  for  as  the  years  have 
passed  he  has  come  to  love  the  impetuous,  brave 
lover  of  his  lost  Oduna,  and  to  hold  them  both 
alike,  watching  for  him  beyond  life's  last  sullen 
stream. 


WHILE  THERE  IS  LIFE  THERE  IS  HOPE(?) 

"  WELL,  he's  dead,  my  bebby  is,"  she  said  bit- 
terly, tearlessly.  "Maybe  it  will  sober  Jim  up 
for  a-  day  'r  two  any  how,"  trying  to  discover  a 
crumb  of  comfort  in  her  heart's  famine. 

Her  name  ?  It  does  not  matter.  She  was  a  com- 
mon, helpless  scrub-woman  in  a  tumbled-down 
tenement-house  at  the  corner  of  Mulberry  and 
Park  streets,  just  off  of  the  Bowery,  with  the  or- 
dinary drunken  husband.  Even  in  the  vile  Italian 
district,  this  haggish  old  ruin  in  which  she  lived 
seemed  viler  than  its  surroundings.  With  a  rot- 
ten-odored  grocery  on  the  ground  floor,  and  a 
stenciling  stable  joining  at  the  rear;  sliced  into  by 
a  narrow,  slimy  stairway,  too  dark  and  ugly  to 
ascend — just  the  way  down  into  some  vampire's 
retreat ;  the  air  heavy  with  the  decay  of  vegeta- 
bles and  meat  on  the  stalls  under  the  scorching 
sun,  the  only  marvel  was  that  the  baby  had  lived 
the  half  of  six  months.  Indeed  when  one  studied 
the  face  and  figure  of  the  stoical  mother,  her  mein, 
wild,  hungry  and  hunted  in  spite  of  her  assumed 
indifference,  he  wondered  that  that  frail  piece  of 

(218) 


WHILE  THERE  IS  LIFE   THERE  IS  HOPE.          219 

flesh  which  she  called  her  "  bebby "  had  ever 
drawn  a  single  breath. 

One  could  at  least  heartily  agree  with  the  com- 
forting neighbor  who  had  dropped  in,  more  be- 
cause a  death  was  an  event  even  in  that  charnel 
street,  than  through  sympathy,  when  she  said : 

"Oh,  well,  it  couldn't  have  lived  through  the 
summer  no  way  ;  better  be  dead  now  than  cry  an- 
other whole  month." 

And  the  mother  sadly  replied,  "  Yes,  that's  so." 

I  wish  I  could  bring  this  house  into  your  sight. 
Its  devil-fish  owner  had  evidently  tried  some  years 
before  to  jest  with  his  conscience  by  having  the 
wide  boards  of  the  first  story  painted  a  light  blue, 
and  the  remainder  of  the  building  yellow  trimmed 
with  red.  A  harlequin  in  a  vault.  He  should 
have  painted  it  iron  grey,  with  huge  skull  and 
cross-bones  on  the  front  and  sides.  Dante  alone 
could  have  designed  for  the  rear. 

I  climbed  with  a  friend  to  its  attic,  one  hot  July 
day,  having  observed  the  notice,  "  rooms  to  let," 
on  the  stair-post.  Of  a  sweet-faced  old  lady  with 
a,  mixed,  foreign  accent,  I  learned  that  the  eight  or 
ten  feet  square  under  a  sloping  ceiling,  with  a  sin- 
gle little  triangle  of  light  at  one  end,  could  be  had 
for  five  dollars  a  month.  She  paid  five  and  a  half 
for  hers  just  across  the  little,  narrow  hallway,  but 
her  daughter's  family  occupied  it  with  her. 

The  devil  is  not  long  in  taking  the  cue  from  his 


220          WHILE  THESE  IS  LIFE   THEEE  IS  HOPE. 

imps.  We  shall  hear  yet  that  apartments  in  hell 
are  being  let  at  so  much  a  month. 

But  to  my  story.  I  do  not  know  how  this  Amer- 
ican mother  came  to  be  down  on  this  extreme 
foreign  level.  There  she  was,  and  will  sink  lower, 
doubtless,  until  she  strikes  bottom  at  last,  with  us 
all,  in  the  grave.  No,  I  forgot.  Hers  will  be  in 
Potter's  Field.  So  have  we  challenged  the  Lev- 
eller himself.  Have  we  ?  I  fancy  I  hear  him 
laugh. 

She  was  tall,  but  stooped  ;  half  her  teeth  were 
gone  ;  eyes  far  back  in  their  sockets  ;  the  nose 
thin ;  ears  transparent,  but  yellowish.  In  dark 
blue  veins  her  blood  lay  stagnant.  Only  a  poor 
skeleton,  its  joints  held  in  place  by  chaffed  skin. 
The  labor-saving  machine  of  a  brutal  husband, 
the  slave  of  his  ungratified  passions,  the  unwilling 
mother  of  his  eight,  scrawny,  nervous,  incapable 
children.  The  oldest  was  a  boy,  already  a  drunk- 
ard ;  the  next  a  girl  of  seventeen,  into  whose  eyes 
the  last  two  weeks  had  brought  the  hunted  look, 
so  common,  so  pitiful,  the  precursor  of  the  brazen 
stare  and  bold  invitation. 

Can't  you  take  the  scorn  out  of  your  soul  and 
say  with  her  over  her  dead  "  bebby,"  "  Yes,  that's 
so?" 

She  took  it  finally  from  the  ragged  comforter  on 
the  floor,  and  laid  it  on  the  only  table  in  the  room. 

"I  oughtn't  to  lay  it  up  there,"  she  said,  "Jim 
won't  like  it,  when  he  comes  in.  But  I  don't  know 


WHILE  THERE  IS  LIFE  THESE  IS  HOPE.          221 

what  else  to  do.  The  children  '11  be  fightin'  in  a 
minute,  and  like  as  not  fall  all  over  it.  Well,  I 
reckon  they'll  be  glad  enough  it's  gone,  it's  been  a 
sight  o'  trouble  to  'em." 

The  inventive  genius,  or  rather  the  memory  of 
the  half-kind  neighbor,  suggested  a  way  out  of 
the  difficulty.  She  brought  the  single  chair  from 
her  own  room,  and  putting  it  with  its  rickety  mate, 
laid  the  wash-board  upon  them,  and  rather  ten- 
derly placed  the  now  stiff  body  upon  this  impro- 
vised bier. 

For  one  day  at  least  that  board  must  lie  idle. 
It  had  torn  the  mother's  fingers'  ends  so  many 
hard  days,  and  now  she  could  never  look  at  it 
again  without  a  deeper  hurt. 

"There,"  she  said,  "I  guess  that'll  do.  No,  you 
needn't  undress  it,  it  ain't  got  anything  but  that 
one  slip.  I  wish  it  was  cleaner,  but  nobody'll  see 
it,  I  guess.  Here  is  a  handkerchief  I  left  out  of 
the  washing^last  week;  I  will  put  it  over  its  little 
face.  I  can't  get  its  eyes  shut." 

"  They  say  they's  in  purgatory  for  some  reason 
or  nother  when  they  act  like  that,"  said  the  neigh- 
bor, who  was  a  devout  Catholic  in  times  of  trouble. 
"  Has  it  ever  been  baptized  ?  " 

"No.  I've  come  to  have  my  doubts  whether 
they  have  any  souls  or  not — bebbies  or  men." 

"God  forgive  ye,"  cried  the  other,  crossing  her- 
self superstitiously. 


222          WHILE  THERE  IS  LIFE  TIIEEE  IS  HOPE. 

"Well,  I  am  sure  He  don't  treat  us  much  as 
though  He  thought  we  had  any." 

With  a  dead  baby  in  the  house,  and  not  a  crust 
in  the  cupboard;  with  a  drunken  husband  without, 
and  a  gnawing  pain  within,  the  heart  can  doubt 
with  little  effort,  especially  if  it  has  believed  the 
dogma  that  an  inscrutable  providence  orders  every 
particular  event  of  every  particular  life,  with  a 
particular  purpose  for  that  life. 

Did  you  ever  try  to  analyze  a  soul  ?  Try  it  now. 
Here  is  a  hungry  woman  ;  she  has  not  laughed  for 
years ;  has  sung  no  hymn,  had  no  altar  of  prayer, 
not  even  a  secret  closet.  Her  love  for  her  children 
has  been  animal,  not  human.  She  has  no  great 
ambition  for  their  future — only  a  horrible  fear. 
No  training  of  souls  toward  ideals — she  has  lost 
her  own.  No  visions  come  to  her  of  old  age  in  the 
arms  of  her  beloved — even  now  they  are  strangers. 
She  trembles  before  her  husband ;  she  even  stub- 
bornly protested  against  her  babe's  robbing  her  of 
her  life  blood  for  its  food.  If  she  thinks  of  God  at 
all,  it  is  with  clinched  hand;  if  of  death,  it  is  to 
crave  it,  even  with  Hell — it  surely  cannot  be  worse 
than  this,  she  thinks. 

Take  her  hand,  put  it  on  the  frozen  snow  of  her 
baby's  cheek ;  draw  her  down  gently  till  her  lips 
are  blistered  with  its  death-frost ;  with  a  word,  set 
her  whole  frame  a-quiver  with  nervous  agony. 
Start  the  echoes  of  her  youth  vibrating  through 
the  empty  chambers  of  her  impoverished  soul,  till 


WHILE  THESE  IS  LIFE  THERE  IS  HOPE.         223 

the  night  comes  on.  Watch  with  her  by  the  flick- 
ering light  of  the  dim  candle,  whose  shadows  move 
like  restless  ghosts  in  the  grim  corners  of  the' 
attic  death-room.  Keep  your  wide-opened  eyes, 
nervously  strained,  intent  upon  her  face,  while  she 
sleeps  a  moment,  even  under  the  dread  expectancy 
of  her  husband's  drunken  cough ;  see  the  shadows 
come  and  go  on  her  quiet  face,  so  faint  beside  the 
deep,  black  shadows  on  her  soul,  as  in  fitful  dream 
she  looks  back,  and  beyond,  and  forgets  the  pres- 
ent. Sit  and  watch  till  the  morning.  Then  if  you 
can  keep  scornful,  and  reproachful,  and  accusing, 
your  soul  is  already  damned  under  that  Divine 
law,  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not  unto  one  of  the 
least  of  these,  ye  did  it  not  to  me.  Depart  from 
me,  ye  accursed." 

Have  you  ever  analyzed  a  soul  ? 

Tour  own  ? 

Across  the  street,  an  unclean  Italian,  with  dis- 
tressing cries,  is  calling  his  little  circle  of  patrons 
to  his  stall  to  celebrate  the  cutting  of  a  half- 
decayed  melon.  He  shares  with  them  for  a 
"penny  a  slice."  Half-naked  children  at  the 
breast,  or  screaming  at  their  mother's  skirts, 
pledge  the  continuance  of  human  misery  for  at 
least  another  generation.  Fakirs  stand  at  every 
twenty  feet  with  wares  to  tickle  the  fancy  of  silly 
youths  and  maidens.  A  street  of  commerce  to 
turn  one's  heart  sick  if  he  did  not  see  the  exact 


224         WHILE  THERE  18  LIFE  THERE  18  HOPE. 

counterpart,  enlarged,  on  Broadway.  The  same 
strife  and  noise,  curses  and  blows,  lying  speech 
and  chuckling  glee  over  ill-gotten  gains — the  only 
addition,  dignified  concealment.  Then  is  the 
•  heart  sick  indeed. 

But  the  babe  sleeps — would  Grod  the  mother 
slept,  too,  the  same  long,  unbroken,  dreamless 
sleep.  But  at  last  the  stupor  nature  so  kindly 
furnishes  when  the  death-blow  strikes  one,  begins 
to  disappear.  Every  nerve  is  trembling,  her  face 
is  twitching,  objects  quiver  before  her  eyes,  her 
ears  are  throbbing  with  the  heavy  tread  of  the 
creaking  stairs. 

"  Jim  is  cominV'  she  gasps  to  the  now  sympa- 
thetic neighbor.  "  Don't  go !  help  me  !  He'll  say 
I've  killed  it." 

But  a  worse  trial  is  before  her.  Jim  has  heard 
on  the  way  from  the  shop  that  his  baby  is  dead. 
He  had  been  waiting  for  work  all  day.  No  money, 
no  credit,  no  liquor,  no  hope.  Weak  and  nervous, 
lie  stumbles  up  the  rickety  stairway,  like  the 
ruined,  frightened,  helpless,  hopeless  man  he  is. 
What  ancestry  failed  to  do  for  his  wrecking,  alco- 
hol has  supplemented.  No  curses,  no  blows ; 
nothing  but  self-condemnation,  self-beatings.  .  She 
could  have  endured  blows  better  than  these. 

The  weakness  of  a  broken  body ;  the  more  ter- 
rible weakness  of  a  reeling  reason,  is  upon  him. 
The  reaction  is  such  as  none  but  lost  and  depraved 
men  can  know.  It  is  a  species  of  insanity.  Per- 


WHILE  TIIEEE  IS  LIFE  THERE  IS  HOPE.         225 

haps  the  Compassionate  One  counts  it  often  as  the 
last  effort  of  wretched  souls  toward  sanity. 

"My  God,  Mary,  where  is  the  bebby?  Jack  said 
it  was  dead.  I  told  him  he  lied.  He  said  it 
starved  to  death.  And  then  I  called  him  a  d — d « 
liar.  Where  is  the  little  clover  ?  There,  I  thought 
I  heard  it  cry.  I  don't  know,  mebby  I'm  drunk 
agin.  No,  not  a  glass  to-day ;  haven't  got  a  red 
to  my  name.  Pull  that  curtain  back  and  let  me 
see  my  little  chick.  God !  what's  them  chairs 
doin'  there  ?  Why,  you  have  been  ciying  child. 
What's  wrong  ?  I  feel  all  run  down  myself." 

"  Look,  what  yer  doing,  Jim  ?"  the  mother  cried, 
as  he  grasped  one  of  the  chairs  to  sit  down,  "don't 
you  see  the  bebby  is  there  ? " 

She  fell  to  the  floor  in  a  death -like  swoon ;  the 
strain  had  been  too  long,  the  struggle  too  hard. 
Her  only  chance  for  life,  however,  had  come  in  this 
enforced  rest. 

But  no  such  rest  came  upon  Jim.  As  he  stooped 
to  examine  the  half-covered  board  a  corner  of  the 
white  handkerchief  lifted  with  the  light  current  of 
air  stirring  through  the  window.  The  white  face 
with  its  unclosed  eyes  lay  before  him  like  a  frozen 
passion,  the  hot,  consuming  passion  of  his  life ;  all 
his  passions  in  ice.  He  shivered  like  one  called  in 
the  dead  of  night,  by  some  one  unseen,  in  a  haunted 
house.  Then  he  burned  with  the  fever  of  the 
plague.  Falling  upon  his  knees  he  crooned  be- 

15 


226          WHILE  THERE  IS  LIFE   THERE  IS  HOPE. 

tween  his  sobs  such  wailing  words  as  soothsayers 
might  envy,  but  no  life  returned. 

"Oh,  my  precious  clover,  my  hungry  bebby; 
poor  lUtle  starved  bebby ;  pa's  boy.  So  cold,  and 
my  head  so  hot;  mebbe  I  kin  warm  you.  God, 
how  cold !  Come,  I'll  hold  you,  oh,  so  tight.  Oh, 
I  can't  bend  its  arm  around  my  neck  any  more,  it's 
so  stiff;  what  shall  I  do?  Wake  up,  Mary,  quick, 
the  bebby 's  hungry.  He  don't  like  his  pa  any 
more,  he  wants  you." 

In  the  meantime  the  crying  neighbors  had  resus- 
citated the  poor  mother,  whose  pain  was  just  begin- 
ning its  real  throbs.  She  lay  like  a  corpse  in  form, 
but  never  so  sensitive  to  every  sound,  every  mo- 
tion as  now.  Her  long  fingers  were  nervously 
twisting  the  untidy  sheet  thrown  over  her.  For  an 
instant  she  did  hear  her  babe,  she  did  feel  it  in  her 
arms,  alive  and  happy,  so  near  did  she  draw  to  the 
wavy  line  where  the  finite  merges  into  the  Infinite. 

But  that  wail  from  across  the  room  :  "  Come, 
Mary,  take  the  baby,  he  don't  seem  to  know  me 
any  more,"  held  her  on  this  side. 

Through  the  night  and  the  next  day  the  mother 
lay  unnaturally  calm  upon  the  rough  bed  piled  in 
the  corner ;  lay  watching  every  movement  of  friend 
and  stranger  alike.  Her  great  hollow  eyes  fol- 
lowed wherever  any  one  turned.  She  made  no 
other  sign,  except  when  some  one  approached  the 
spot  where  her  baby  lay.  Then  invariably  she 


WHILE  THERE  IS  LIFE  THEEE  IS  HOPE.         227 

rose  upon  one  arm  and  with  heaving  breast  seemed 
just  about  to  speak. 

You  have  watched  a  mother-cat  keeping  silent 
guard  over  her  dead  kitten?  The  same  animal 
instinct  was  here,  pitiful  and  smiting.  Once  when 
a  kind  Sister  of  Charity  came  by  invitation  of  the 
Catholic  neighbor,  and  put  her  hand  on  the  child's 
face,  as  one  accustomed  to  the  dead  is  apt  to  do  in 
search  for  some  lingering  warmth  which  is  never 
found,  she  gave  a  faint  little  scream,  and  would 
have  crawled  from  the  bed  if  others  had  not 
restrained  her. 

The  other  children,  dressed  in  the  only  whole 
clothes  the  entire  house  could  afford,  gathered  in 
from  the  various  families'  scant  wardrobes,  drew 
no  attention  from  her.  She  did  not  see  them. 
When  no  one  was  moving  she  would  turn  herself 
so  she  could  look  at  Jim.  Without  stirring,  for 
half  an  hour,  she  would  keep  her  eyes  upon  him. 
There  may  have  been  a  slight  delirium,  just 
enough  to  calm  her,  as  is  frequently  the  case,  but 
I  believe  the  poor  woman  knew  all  that  had  hap- 
pened. The  mystifying  veil  had  been  rudely  rent. 
She  saw  all.  Her  difficulty  lay  in  solving  the 
problem.  Her  weak  brain  was  lost  in  the  maze  of 
these  inexplicable  facts. 

It  was  just  the  reverse  with  Jim.  Not  the  problem, 
but  the  facts  troubled  him.  A  pauper,  a  drunkard, 
and  a  dead  child  in  the  house — his  own  child  ;  starv- 
ed to  death,  and  to  be  laid  to-morrow  in  Potter's 


228          WHILE  THESE  IS  LIFE  THESE  IS  HOPE. 

Field.  These  the  elements ;  these  and  an  awful 
pain,  a  hideous  remorse,  a  dread  of  the  future. 
All  the  first  night;  he  moaned,  with  occasional 
spasms  of  grief.  When  once  he  realized  that  the 
child  was  dead,  he  did  not  go  near  it  again.  He 
avoided  that  part  of  the  room,  even  with  his  eyes. 
A  crushing  horror  had  possession  of  him.  I  be- 
lieve he  would  have  died  of  nervous  fear  had  he 
been  compelled  to  touch  the  dead  body  again.  In 
his  changing  moods  he  would  talk  it  all  over  with 
some  of  the  men  as  they  tiptoed  in  with  awkward 
embarrassment,  hat  in  hand :  the  lowest  will  not 
stand  covered  in  the  presence  of  death.  Talked  of 
how  he  had  been  away  all  day  ;  hadn't  known  the 
baby  was  very  sick  ;  had  been  out  of  luck  lately, 
and  guessed  this  was  part  of  the  game.  Every- 
body seemed  dead  against  him.  Then  the  grief 
would  come  again.  Fortunately  no  one  had  asked 
him  to  drink  during  the  day.  He  may  have 
thought  of  it  a  few  times  himself;  but  why  ?  He 
hadn't  a  cent. 

The  Associated  Charities  Committee  had  been 
informed  of  the  case  and  had  the  funeral  in 
charge.  It  was  announced  through  the  house  for 
ten  o'clock  the  following  day.  The  second  night 
passed,  bringing  a  little  rest  to  the  tired  ones ; 
then  came  the  trying  day.  £fy>  matter  how  re- 
signed one  may  become,  and  philosophical,  the 
funeral  hour  of  his  beloved  will  open  the  wound 
afresh.  The  silent  friends  gathering  in;  harsh 


WHILE  THE  HE  IS  LIFE   THERE  IS  HOPE.         229 

footfalls  breaking  the  awful  stillness  ;  the  quick- 
ening of  the  heart  under  the  final  emotion.  How 
familiar ! 

It  happened  that  Dr.  Goodwest,  a  visitor  in  the 
city  at  the  great  Christian  Endeavor  Convention, 
was  in  conversation  with  a  member  of  the  Chari- 
ties Committee  early  in  the  morning  of  this  funer- 
al day  concerning  the  work  of  the  Society,  and 
was  invited  to  attend  the  services  that  his  own  eyes 
might  be  better  witnesses  for  him  than  the  words 
of  others.  Standing,  a  dozen  of  them,  in  that 
crowded  little  attic  chamber,  the  good  doctor  was 
moved  beyond  measure  by  what  he  saw.  It  was 
all  new  and  strange  to  him  ;  he  had  only  read  of 
such  scenes;  that  he  should  be  a  part  of  one,  af- 
fected him  beyond  anything  he  had  ever  known. 
He  was  asked  to  pray.  I  trust  the  reader  will  per- 
mit me  to  record  that  prayer  here,  as  it  is  in 
heaven. 

Jim  was  sobbing ;  the  mother,  propped  up  with 
old  garments,  ley  panting  on  the  bed,  close  to 
which  the  doctor  stood.  He  lost  his  ordinary 
reckonings,  this  great-souled  man.  He  knew  noth- 
ing but  that  a  man  and  woman  were  undone,  and 
that  God  is  a  Healer. 

"  Great  Father,  thou  lovest  all  thy  children,  but 
best  of  all,  thy  little,  weak,  helpless,  smitten  chil- 
dren. Thou  wouldst  not  hurt  a  sparrow,  but 
wouldst  notice  even  its  fall.  Surely,  then,  Thou 
wouldst  not  hurt  these  dear  souls  of  Thine,  these 


230          WHILE  THERE  IS  LIFE   THESE  /£  HOPE. 

sick,  hungry,  naked,  and  imprisoned  little  ones  of 
our  dear  Lord.  Jesus,  who  came  to  heal,  to  seek 
and  to  save  the  lost,  could  not  love  Thee  nor  obey 
Thee  unto  death,  if  Thou  wast  not  the  God  of 
Love.  In  the  change  of  things  here,  pain  and 
death  come.  But  over  them  all  Jesus  has 
triumphed.  Oh,  God  of  mercy,  bind  up  this  man's 
hurt,  for  he  is  wounded  of  nature  and  of  Satan. 
In  Thee  alone  is  his  help.  This  poor  woman,  oh, 
Thou  Son  of  Mary,  do  Thou  be  her  Son,  her  Broth- 
er, her  All.  This  little  babe  sleeps  in  thy  tender 
arms,  to  waken  in  sinless  Eden.  Keep  these  and 
us  unto  that  same  end.  By  Mary's  forgiven  sins, 
by  the  prodigal  son's  tears,  I  pray  thee  forgive,  and 
restore,  and  save,  even  by  this  loss,  this  man,  this 
woman,  unto  eternal  life.  It  is  of  Thee,  oh,  Christ, 
I  ask  it.  Amen." 

No  anguished  cries  followed  these  lofty  words, 
as  is  so  often  the  case  where  ignorant  comforters 
talk  of  God's  heavy,  chastening  hand.  A  calm, 
a  Galilean  quiet  fell  upon  tho§e  ignorant  lis- 
teners under  the  tenderness  and  earnestness  of  his 
musical  voice.  Where  they  failed  to  follow  the 
word,  the  spirit  of  his  prayer  moved  them.  No 
sermon  followed,  fortunately,  though  one  had  been 
suggested  by  a  member  of  the  committee.  The 
doctor  went  over  to  Jim's  side  and  putting  his  mag- 
netic hand  on  his  bent  shoulder  filled  him  with 
new  strength.  He  did  not  say  :  "  Your  child  is 
in  heaven  ;"  "  It  was  best  for  it  to  die  now  ;"  or, 


WHILE  THERE  IS  LIFE  THEEE  IS  HOPE.         231 

"  be  resigned  to  the  inscrutable  mysteries  of 
Providence."  How  gratefully  I  record  it !  he  said 
infinitely  more.  This  is  what  he  said  : 

"  You  will  be  sick,  my  dear  man.  You  must 
come  away  with  me  now.  The  friends  will  see 
that  everything  is  done  just  right;  I  have  a  plan 
to  propose  to  you  for  the  future."  To  the  mother, 
who  needed  kindness  more  than  words,  he  simply 
said :  "  Don't  get  up.  Let  these  good  people 
look  after  you.  You  need  a  little  rest.  All  will 
be  well." 

After  the  little  procession  had  moved  slowly 
down  the  stairs,  Dr.  Goodwest  took  Jim  by  the 
arm  and  started  on  his  mission.  As  they  passed 
up  the  Bowery,  the  great,  surging,  stolid,  dull- 
eyed  crowd,  well-nigh  froze  the  hope  in  his  heart. 
Which  way  blew  the  winds,  which  way  coursed 
the  tides  ?  The  sea  was  fathomless,  the  swimmer 
faint  and  worn ;  the  man  overboard  was  far  from 
being  rescued.  In  a  quieter  spot  they  waited  for 
an  up-town  car. 

He  had  begun  right,  and  had  he  possessed  the 
power  would  have  finished  this  man's  reforma- 
tion, in  all  probability;  but  as  yet  all  such  efforts 
find  one  man  pulling  at  the  oar  while  a  steady,  re- 
lentless current  of  public  opinion  and  public  indif- 
ference is  pushing  him  down  toward  the  gulf. 

A  score  of  questions  flooded  into  utterance.  How 
long  had  it  been  since  Jim  left  his  last  place 
of  work,  and  for  what  reason  ?  What  plans  had 


232          WHILE  THERE  IS  LIFE  THERE  IS  HOPE. 

he  now,  and  where  had  he  tried  for  work  ?  Had 
he  any  friends  who  could  help  him  ?  What  were 
his  average  earnings  when  sober,  and  how  often 
did  he  become  intoxicated  ?  They  were  like  flash- 
ing saber-stabs  upon  a  cotton  ball.  "  The  black 
list,"  and  "  Pat  Rooney's  Place,"  were  the  only 
intelligible  responses.  There  was  nothing  in  his 
replies  calculated  to  melt  ice. 

The  good  Doctor  was  following  an  impulse 
which  in  his  western  home  might  have  led  to  suc- 
cess. Had  he  personally  conducted  any  one,  how- 
ever unpromising,  to  one  of  his  several  parishion- 
ers who  employed  men,  with  a  request  for  his 
employment,  his  petition  would  have  been  imme- 
diately granted,  out  of  respect  for  the  Doctor,  and 
because  there  is  less  organization  among  employ- 
ers West.  He  had  a  single  hope  now.  An  old- 
time  friend  of  his  was  a  large  manufacturer  in  a 
Brooklyn  suburb.  He  would  present  Jim  at  the 
city  office,  and  ask  for  aid  for  friendship's  sake. 

He  scarcely  stopped  to  think  that  should  this 
succeed,  there  were  ten  thousand  other  hopeless, 
helpless,  heredity -smitten,  soul-killed  men  for 
whom  there  was  no  pitying  Dr.  Goodwest. 

The  greetings  were  made  as  brief  as  possible, 
for  his  energies  were  always  direct  or  nothing. 

"Nothing  would  please  me  more  than  to  help 
you,  Doctor,"  with  the  emphasis  upon  the  you.  "I 
will  have  him  looked  up,  and  if  he  is  not  on  the 
black-list  I  will  try  him  a  week," 


WHILE  TIIEEE  IS  LIFE  THERE  IS  HOPE.         233 

"  But  he  is  on  the  list,"  pleadingly  broke  in  the 
minister. 

"  That  settles  it.  I  am  powerless.  "We  must 
protect  one  another.  We  would  soon  become  the 
prey  of  designing  and  thieving  tramps,  whose  de- 
light would  be  the  destruction  of  our  property  and 
doubtless  our  lives.  Let  him  keep  sober,  learn  to 
be  thrifty  and  keep  out  of  trouble.  Every  man 
has  his  chance.  If  he  loses  it  he  must  not  blame 
you  and  me,  Doctor." 

The  Doctor  made  no  reply;  his  heart  was 
too  full,  and  his  thoughts  too  hot. 

He  kept  thinking  :  "  Why  not  make  his  clerk 
read  Homer ;  why  not  open  the  insane  asylums 
and  flog  the  inmates  for  their  lost  chances." 

"  I  wrote  my  check  yesterday  for  a  cool  thou- 
sand to  build  a  mission  church  adjoining  my 
works.  I  do  not  say  it  to  boast,  but  that  you  may 
understand  me.  That  is  the  only  way  to  help 
these  people,  and  that  is  confounded  slow." 

Dr.  Goodwest  arose  respectfully,  and  without 
reply  withdrew  with  his  burden.  They  stood  a 
moment  on  the  curbstone  of  the  city's  greatest 
thoroughfare.  "  What  shall  I  do  with  him  ?"  came 
rushing  into  his  consciousness.  His  home  deso- 
late ;  his  wife  a  hopeless  invalid,  soon  to  become 
a  mother  again;  his  children  ruined  already  before 
learning  what  sin  really  is  ;  the  passion  for  drink 
being  even  then  in  his  restless  eyes ;  distrustful  of 
every  soul — the  Doctor  can  feel  a  gulf  sinking 


234         WHILE  THERE  IS  LIFE  THESE  IS  HOPE. 

between  them  deeper  every  moment.  No  work  but 
the  lowest  sort  of  drudgery,  an  hour  at  a  time. 
No  ambition,  nothing  to  appeal  to  but  his  animal 
affection  for  his  dead  child,  and  even  that  has 
turned  to  horror. 

The  indifferent  crowd  hurried  by,  some  with  rude 
jostling  and  half-muttered  imprecation.  Each  face 
knotted  in  selfish  thought  of  to-morrow,  or  open 
with  careless  mirth.  As  a  rising  tide  eddies  and 
courses  about  a  black  rock  on  the  shore  line,  and  at 
last  covers  it  from  sight,  so  threatened  this 
thoughtless,  irresistible  tide  of  humanity. 

"My  God,  what  shall  I  do  with  this  poor 
wretch  ?"  unconsciously  cried  the  man  of  mercy 
aloud. 

"I'm  dummed  if  I  know,"  came  in  swaggering 
indifference  from  the  man  at  his  side,  fast  slipping 
back  into  the  sea. 

What  would  you  haw  done? 


A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION. 

I  WONDER  what  fate  lias  against  me  now;  what 
old  score  is  she  about  to  settle  ?  That  of  all  times, 
this  day  should  be  heavy  with  mists  and  clouds, 
goes  beyond  my  usual  shrewdness  in  interpreting 
her  moods.  As  if  to  make  her  victory  complete 
she  lashed  me  into  unrest  with  horrible  dreams 
through  the  whole  night.  Dreams  of  sins  of  which 
she  declared  my  youth — the  only  gleam  in  all  this 
shadow  of  a  doomed  life — had  been  guilty;  and 
she  further  declared  with  her  accustomed  shriek, 
that  like  scars  on  the  face  of  one  we  love,  made 
by  our  own  demoniac  temper,  so  should  these  sins 
come  ever  before  me  ;  not  distinct,  like  so  many 
demons,  with  hateful  leer,  to  taunt  me,  but  in  the 
hurts  and  unhealed  wounds  of  my  friends  their 
grinning  heads  should  pop  up,  stained  with  clotted 
blood,  and  mocking,  disappear,  leaving  a  flame 
whose  distressing  odor  should  vex  when  mine  eyes, 
no  longer  able  to  see  them  through  their  film  of 
disease,  should  be  blind! 

I  am  sore  with  vain  tossings  to  turn  away  from 
the  sad  and  reproachful  eyes  of  those  I  once  have 
loved,  and  do  still  remember  when  my  own  sorrows 

(235) 


236  A  SOUL'S  XES  US  SEC  TION. 

will  let  me.  Me,  they  have  forgotten  ;  from  their 
sight  I  have  sunk  forever ;  I  could  hate  them 
for  it  with  a  poisoning  hatred. 

At  last  exhausted  with  mind-racings  up  and 
down  the  narrow  cell  of  my  dream-prison,  I  awoke, 
xvhile  a  loud  crash  of  thunder  made  my  already 
quivering  nerves  jerk  with  pain.  This  day  was  to 
have  been  the  birthday  of  a  new  purpose.  An 
energy  of  body  and  soul,  to  goad  myself  into  mo- 
tion out  of  my  environment,  had  been  the  plan  for 
this  half-cycle  of  the  earth.  How  this  old  sun-curs- 
ed planet  goes  on  maddened  to  its  doom !  I  verily 
believe  I  should  like  to  be  alive  the  day  it  goes 
crushing  against  some  burnt-out  sun,  and  is  dashed 
into  atoms,  if  only  this  wrecked  brain  could  be 
crushed  too ;  but  what  if  some  thought  should  live 
on  apart  from  the  brain  that  created  it — horrible 
possibility !  I  had  infinitely  rather  be  this  rotten- 
ing  brain,  sure  to  crumble  ere  long,  than  to  be  any 
thought  of  my  last  ten  years,  and  eternal! 

I  do  entreat  thee,  thou  great  force,  somewhere, 
everywhere,  let  me  live  not ;  not  even  in  thought;  an- 
nihilate, annihilate,  leave  no  atom,  no  purpose,  no 
longing  anywhere  inwrought  with  my  personality  ! 
I  want  to  die,  I  will  die  !  What  was  that  ?  Must  I 
dream  of  the  accursed  devils  with  my  eyes  wide  open? 
Is  there  no  smiting,  fate-detaining,  no  untrembling 
hand  ?  My  soul  cowers  like  a  whipped  cur.  Soul  ? 
Ha,  ha !  Come  hither,  thou  subtle  trickster.  If 
thou  art,  let  me  conjure  thee  forth  where  mine  eyes 


A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION.  237 

may  behold  tliee.  Ah,  shame-faced,  thou  hidest 
deeper  still !  I  get  no  pulse  of  thy  life.  Thou  art 
not.  Gods !  what  a  crash  was  that.  Even  the 
heavens  are  breaking  with  their  weight  of  woe. 
The  roar  of  the  sea  is  lost  in  the  tempest  thunder. 
The  window  is  veiled  with  a  sheet  of  rain.  The 
air  is  close.  My  heart  has  quit  beating,  and 
trembles,  as  though  about  to  say  farewell  to  its 
wretched  house.  Is  there  no  help?  Can  no  one 
hear  rny  cries  ?  Must  I  perish  alone  ?  Save  me  ; 
Zeus,  Almighty,  save — ah  !  down !  A  baby's  puny 
wails  are  not  so  pitiful.  No  more  tricks  like  that, 
or  I'll  give  thee  to  elemental  clay,  thou  old  barna- 
cled hulk  of  worn-out  passions.  But  that  this,  of 
all  days,  should  be  so  hellishly  dark!  To-day, 
when  the  friend  of  my  youth  is  to  greet  me  !  Here 
is  the  crumpled  note  now,  where  I  flung  it  in  my 
rage  last  night.  "  By  to-morrow's  sunset  I  will 
see  your  face  once  more !"  My  face ;  bah  !  Where 
is  that  cracked  mirror,  the  only  thing  in  the  uni- 
verse that  dares  face  me.  Here,  you  accursed  re- 
vealer,  show  me  perdition's  grim  features  once 
more.  How  my  hand  trembles !  My  face ;  yellow, 
wrinkled,  soulless.  Yes,  it  is  my  face.  Oh,  that 
sudden  pain  ;  wras  it  in  my  flesh  or  in  my  spirit  ? 
After  all,  are  they  not  the  same?  A  thought  came 
with  it,  whatever  its  source ;  the  demons  peering 
from  some  gaping  wound  might  magnetize  my 
blood  with  their  poisoned  eyes  until  I  should  turn 
to  a  stone.  (That  miserable  dream.)  What  a  monu- 


238  A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION. 

ment  of  human  folly  would  my  poor  body  make, 
petrified,  and  set  upon  a  pedestal  on  some  great 
thoroughfare,  where  the  mighty  multitude,  push- 
ing on  to  its  unconscious  doom,  should  jeer  at  my 
ruins,  not  knowing  that  they  were  prophetic  of 
their  own  ! 

I  shall  be  helpless  by  sunset ;  sunset — how  like 
the  olden  times  is  that  word !  He  was  a  poet  then, 
my  lost  Raphael.  We  stood  on  many  a  hill  to- 
gether and  sighed  with  sleepy  nature  as  she  shut 
her  eyes  in  the  soothing  twilight.  I  loved  him,  I 
don't  know  why.  Strange  that  one  man  should 
love  another,  in  this  heartless  age.  But  I  did. 
My  heart  and  eyes  moved  with  the  rhythm  of  his 
speech.  But  his  hand  let  mine  go  one  day,  to  take 
the  warm,  responsive  hand  of  one  he  loved  from 
that  instant  better  than  he  did  me.  My  soul 
cried  out,  and  my  face  spoke  a  silent  language  my 
lips  refused  to  utter,  as  I  let  him  pass  away,  plead- 
ing with  me,  but  not  restored.  Ah!  I  thought  I 
heard  a  laugh.  Who  would  dare  pierce  this 
gloom  with  a  dart  of  light.  There  again ;  but  no 
sunlight  is  in  it,  only  the  chill  of  the  moon.  Ah  ! 
the  demons  !  Why  should  I  have  had  that  dream? 

"  See  my  face  once  more  and  grasp  my  hand  ;  " 
ray  hand ;  see  how  it  shakes,  it  pricks  as  though 
with  nettles;  I  wonder  if  it  will  sting  his  touch, 
and  poison  him  ? 

What  if  he  should  laugh  like  the  imps ;  what  if 
he  came  to  mock  me  in  my  weakness !  I  would 


A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION:  239 

strangle — no,  he  had  a  kind  heart  always,  and  de- 
spite my  cloudiness,  shone  at  me  as  if  he  meant  to 
melt  away  my  coldness.  If  only  the  day  had  been 
fresh  and  bright  for  me,  I  might  have  started  the 
old  rusty  wheels  again.  But  I  fear  my  power  is 
gone.  Another  hand  might.  But  what  hand  ?  I 
dare  not  try  it,  and  yet,  just  one  touch  might  be 
like  a  charm  to  set  in  motion — no,  no,  it  is  too  late. 
I  must  submit. 

A  diseased,  death-stricken  child  must  indict  its 
generator,  when  its  mind  turns  logical,  for  the 
crime  of  its  suffering ;  and  if  it  shall  hate  him  at 
last,  the  syllogism  shall  be  nearer  perfect.  What 
then  shall  be  the  emotion  of  a  race  of  children 
toward  their  common  Father  (according  to  the 
theologues),  if  every  breath  is  accompanied  with 
intense  pain  ?  What  infinite  imperfections,  what 
diseased  vitals  must  afflict  Him,  the  Creator,  that 
such  an  inheritance  has  fallen  to  his  creatures. 
To  be  sure,  the  poets  and  theologians  speak  in 
rather  disparaging  terms  of  our  Mother  Earth,  and 
pour  out  on  her  frail  head  the  vials  of  their  un- 
seemly wrath,  and  insinuate  unblushingly  that 
scandals  innumerable  have  blackened  her  fair 
name,  while  to  our  generator,  -which  after  an 
ancient  custom,  they  name  God,  they  impute  all 
virtues  and  excellences.  With  sly  thrusts  and 
declamatory  denunciations,  they  seek  to  pile  upon 
her  bony  shoulders,  weakened  as  she  is  by  over- 
much maternity,  the  responsibility  of  all  the  in- 


240  A  SOUL'S 

herited  diseases  of  body  and  soul,  together  with 
all  acquired  ones,  and  not  a  few  imaginary  ones 
in  their  "  unbelieving  "  neighbors.  As  usual,  fem- 
inine weakness  has  not  dared  to  refute  these 
charges  except  in  an  occasional  cyclone  or  vol- 
cano, when  so  black  grows  her  placid  features,  so 
fiery  her  temper,  that  even  I  am  led  to  suspect  her 
usual  smiles  and  pleasing  moods,  as  being  a  sort 
of  coquetry — innocent,  doubtless,  and  an  involun- 
tary condition  of  her  sex !  And,  I  am  more  than 
puzzled,  when  in  the  midst  of  her  choicest  favors 
and  bestowals,  she  suddenly  turns  away  and  hides 
her  face  under  her  spotless  veil  of  white,  pouting 
in  freezing  silence,  her  very  tears  turning  to  ice- 
drops,  when  lately  they  were  warm  and  pleading. 
And  worse  than  all,  I  am  certain  that  while  she 
dashes  our  love  for  her  with  sleety  floods,  double- 
faced,  she  flames  with  immodest  lust  towards  those 
who  are  gathered  at  her  side  away  from  us,  until 
in  the  tropics,  life  shoots  up  in  supreme  and  waste- 
ful rankness  and  profusion.  Moody,  passionate, 
promising,  but  not  fulfilling,  generous  to  a  fault 
when  inclined,  or  selfish,  cold,  destructive  in  tem- 
pest and  fire, — what  if  after  all,  the  poets  and 
preachers  are  right!  Her  children  resemble  her 
somewhat,  I  must  own. 

But  it  cannot  be  the  truth,  or  the  preachers  never 
could  have  hit  upon  it.  I  am  convinced,  and  any 
sound  mind  ought  to  be. 

Moreover  I  make  answer  to  these  half  truths,  by 


A  SOUL'S  EESURRECTION.  241 

quoting  the  preacher's  own  Book  of  facts  (?) :  "God 
made  man,  and  breathed  into  him  the  breath  of 
life,  and  he  became  a  living  spirit."  That  should 
end  the  dispute  and  forever  settle  the  origin  of 
these  pains,  convulsions  and  fears.  No  God  would 
do  the  like ;  but  such  conditions  do  exist,  there- 
fore there  is  no  God.  As  a  matter  of  course,  the 
pulpitarian  replies  with  his  usual  bravado  and  in- 
timidation, that  the  same  Book  declares,  "  God 
made  man  out  of  the  dust  of  the  earth." 

Well,  what  if  he  did  ?  What  has  that  to  do 
with  it?  There  was  no  life  until  the  breathing 
took  place,  and  the  breather  is  responsible  for  all 
that  has  resulted  from  that  breathing.  See  the 
folly  of  their  argument ;  any  one  but  a  bigoted 
theologian  would  discover  that  it  leads  directly  to 
evolution,  and  he  dare  not  advocate  that  because 
of  a  slight  financial  embarrassment  which  might 
ensue  professionally.  I  only  wish  that  he  might 
get  entangled  in  that  net,  he  and  all  his  kind  ;  for 
of  all  nonsensical,  sentimental  trumpery,  to  my 
mind,  Evolution  is  the  airiest.  It  proves  too 
much.  It  proves  an  intelligent  beginning,  and  a 
providential  continuing  and  developing.  It  proves, 
too,  an  adequate  destiny  as  the  certain  end  of  this 
growth.  Admit  these  legitimate  demands  of  Evo- 
lution, and  you  admit  the  preacher's  wildest  as- 
sertions. 

There  is  no  growth,  because  there  was  no  intel- 

16 


242  A  SOUL'S  EESURRECTIQN. 

ligent  beginning ;  there  can  be  no  destiny!  A 
germ  sprouts  only  when  it  happens  to  fall  into  the 
environment  its  nature  needs.  One  dare  not  say 
his  own  life  is  the  result  of  any  plan — merest 
chance.  He  finds  his  whole  nature  is  pre-deter- 
mined  by  pre-natal  influences  over  which  he  had 
no  control. 

The  sun  happens  to  shine  against  a  cloud  as 
the  rain  falls,  and  the  rainbow  appears,  just  as  at 
this  instant  it  spans  the  eastern  sky  yonder. 

At  last  the  sun  is  coming.  How  have  I  gotten 
through  this  day?  For  an  hour  I  had  forgotten 
the  night  and  its  visions.  But  the  setting  sun  re- 
minds me  that  my  visitor  will  soon  arrive.  What 
a  mood  is  this  for  receiving  one  who  years  ago  be- 
longed to  the  inner  circle.  How  the  years  have 
piled  the  mountains  between  us.  I  am  told  he  has 
found  the  delight  of  his  earlier  ambitions  in  much 
success  and  applause.  It  is  well.  I  seem  to  have 
stood  still  on  the  same  spot  where  we  parted,  ex- 
cept that  I  have  been  slowly  sinking.  Perhaps  he 
may  give  me  a  hand ;  but  no,  I  will  not  have  it  so! 
Let  him  keep  his  woman's  philosophy.  I  want 
none  of  it.  I  am  myself,  and  if  I  sink,  it  will  be 
into  oblivion ;  but  will  it  be  into  forgetfulness  ?  To 
that  question  I  get  no  answer.  Oh,  the  pain,  and 
the  demons  again  !  Did  I  then  so  wrong  my  old 
friend  that  his  return  persists  in  bringing  to  my 
memory  a  sin  half  forgotten  ? 

But  see  the  budding  sunset  blooming  into  its 


A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION.  243 

full  flower.  A  perfect  garden  of  color  and  form. 
And  the  sea  is  at  his  flattery  again.  He  takes  on 
the  mood  of  the  sky,  and  throwing  himself  into 
wooing  the  graceful  queen  of  the  air,  wins  her 
almost  to  his  arms,  the  white  drapery  of  her  beau- 
ful  garments  sinking  down  until  the  highest  waves 
kiss  them.  As  she  looks  longingly  down,  behold- 
ing her  imaged  self  in  the  sea's  embrace,  she 
abandons  herself  to  the  delights  of  her  imagina- 
tion. But  this  is  all.  The  law  of  each  holds  them 
apart,  and  they  may  only  wish  and  dream.  God  ! 
this  maddening  law  which,  separates !  So  my 
youthful  fancy  lived  and  loved  in  vain.  My  love, 
her  own  sweet  answer  with  promised  favors  gave, 
but  Fate  shook  his  hoary  locks  about  his  stern, 
accursed  face  with  his  emphatic  denials.  I  dare 
not  count  how  many  black  figures  in  my  life's  sum 
are  due  to  this  denial.  How  many  long  hours, 
hopeless,  bringing  forth  their  dark-visaged  brood 
to  trouble  me  and  my  kind  ;  how  much  discontent 
and  hatred ! 

How  they  border  in  lines  not  easily  seen,  these 
two  realms  of  hate  and  love.  When  one  sets  his 
heart  into  pulses  of  love,  the  twitch  of  a  single 
nerve  may  change  it  to  hate.  I  hated,  not  her  lost 
self,  but  the  world,  men,  women,  and  even  innocent 
children,  the  days,  the  race,  because  of  the  aid 
they  rendered  Fate  against  me  so  gratuitously. 
Alas!  as  I  recall  it  now,  it  was  because  of  this  that 
first  I  distrusted  my  heart's  charm  and  solace, 


244  A  SOUL'S  EESVItKECTION. 

that  friend  whose  presence  just  now  seems  to  draw 
nigh,  like  an  influence  one  feels  but  does  not  see. 


A  step  at  last.  How  the  old  porch  creaks  under 
Ms  steady  tramp !  Perhaps  some  evil  spirit  is 
exorcised  by  his  coming.  Aha,  the  old  knocker 
has  fallen  off!  His  bare  hand  will  knock  at  my 
portal — oh,  what  emotions  !  am  I  so  weak  then — 
what  and  he  should  beat  at  my  poor  heart  with 
his  bare  hand.  Could  I  refuse  him  ?  Fie,  art  thou 
craven  then  ?  Down  }  a  child's  heart  could  be  less 
simple. 

Yes ;  a  firm  knock  was  that. 

I  believe  I  can  stand. 

"  Come  in,  my — come  in,  I  say."  How  unnat- 
ural I  feel.  "  Why  is  this,  dear  me,  how  much 
you  have — no,  not  changed,  but  grown,  I  was 
about  to  say.  Oh,  excuse  me,  I  am  very  feeble 
to-day.  I  must  sit  down ;  be  seated,  do.  I 
scarcely — ,  you  seem  to  be  something  more  than 
the  old  Raphael  of  Yarrow.  Oh  yes,  I  know. 
Don't  refer  to  them.  There  are  years  and  years. 
I  have  one,  you  the  other.  Sorry  to  see  me  so 
feeble  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  am  feeble  ;  it's  my  ill  health. 
I,  well  you  see,  hard  work  in  the  laboratory,  and 
all  that.  But  let  us  to  your  work.  I  can  see  in 
your  face  that  all  I  have  heard  is  true.  The  ex- 
travagances of  your  friends  ?  Oh,  no,  you  must 
allow  me  ;  I  feel  stronger  than  for  days,  it  really 


A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION.  245 

does  me  good  through  and  through  to  see  you 
again.  You  knew  me  at  the  first  glance  ?  Well,  I 
was  afraid  you  might  not.  You  know  we  old  ras- 
cals don't  like  to  be  thought  changing  much. 
Younger  than  you  ?  Impossible  !  Yes,  I  remem- 
ber now.  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  ill  health,  that 
accounts  for  it ;  you  are  right.  Make  me  young 
again?  Well,  I  wish  you  might.  But  can  you 
recall  all — enough  of  that,  however  ? 

"  Tell  me  of  the  years  since  we  parted.  Your 
mother  dead  ?  Alas,  how  it  presses  upon  us  all ; 
and  no,  not  Eleanor,  your  wife!  She  dead,  can  it 
be  ?  And  you  live  still  and  smile  ?  Resignation  ? 
There  is  none,  it  is  only  an  iron  will,  stronger  than 
emotions.  I  never  had  it.  It  makes  me  bitter  to 
think  of  it. 

"  But  then  the  years  have  brought  you  compen- 
sation. Ah,  what  did  you  say?  I  was  thinking 
of  that  day  ;  go  on." 

"  Such  compensation,"  my  friend  replied,  "  as 
only  sacrifice,  and  the  unexpected  both  in  joy  and 
in  sorrow  bring.  Through  sorrow  and  unceasing 
pain  have  I  come  to  what  I  have.  God  hath  so 
led  me." 

"  God — yes — well,  you  know  I  am  not  what  we 
were  then.  Perhaps  my  sufferings  may  have  done 
it.  But  the  old  ideas  of  Providence  are  all  in 
ruins  in  my  brain." 

"  I  will  not  say  my  own  have  not  changed  since 
our  youthful  speculations.  It  does  not  seem  to  me 


246  A  SOUL'S  RES UBEEC TION. 

that  God  stops  natural  law  for  the  individual,  but 
makes  the  individual  the  instinctive,  intelligent 
subject  of  laws  which  do  not  vary ;  but  in  their 
in  variableness  is  oar  protection  and  sole  safety. 
Yet  I  do  believe  that  His  spiritual  Kingship  can 
make  any  physical  calamity  which  our  disobe- 
dience brings  upon  us,  lose  much  of  its  force,  when 
by  it  we  come  in  line  with  His  purposes.  For  ex- 
ample, a  misstep  may  lame  me  for  life  in  spite  of 
God ;  but  as  a  cripple  I  may,  in  accord  with  His 
thought,  and  by  His  grace,  be  more  in  this  present 
life  than  I  could  otherwise  have  been,  and  better 
adapted  to  the  environment  of  the  life  to  come. 
But  I  am  wearying  you." 

"No,  indeed,"  was  the  quick  answer;  "this 
seems  new  to  me,  and  refreshing,  after  this  long 
fever-time.  My  temples  have  throbbed  with  the 
pain  of  angry  thought  so  long,  that  your  very 
tones  seem  like  a  gentle  touch." 

"  I  am  not  sure  but  that  pain  is  to  be  the  saviour 
of  the  world.  You  know  we  had  great  boyish 
conceptions  of  an  ideal  life  in  the  days  of  our 
youth.  Somewhere  in  the  world  there  were  heights 
cloud-wrapt  and  commanding.  Upon  these  we 
were  to  stand.  Just  how,  we  did  not  know  ;  cer- 
tainly not  by  climbing ;  that  was  much  too 
antique  a  way  of  ascent.  We  fairly  believed 
some  ingenious  elevator  system  would  present  it- 
self for  our  service.  But  I  learned  before  many 
days  that  it  was  a  long,  long  tramp  to  the  foot  of 


A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION.  247 

the  mountain,  and  toilsome,  exhausting  climbing 
even  to  moderate  cliffs  from  which  one  might  get 
a  wider  horizon,  while  its  summit  seemed  to  lift 
itself  into  the  snows  more  rapidly  than  I  could 
climb.  Since  then  I  have  been  content,  in  some 
measure,  to  remain  where  my  strength  can  carry 
me." 

"  Ah,  yes,  and  I ;  I  frantically  beat  and  tore  my 
poor  hands  against  barriers  giants  could  not  re- 
move, bitterly,  accusingly,  until  the  pain  struck  to 
my  heart,  and  I  slipped  down  from  the  position  I 
had  gained,  nerveless,  to  the  very  beginning,  and  too 
weak  to  attempt  it  again.  I  have  had  the  pain, 
too  ;  tell  me  why  it  should  bless  you  and  curse 
me  ?  Answer  me — you  seem  to  know  all.  Oh,  my 
friend,  I  beg  of  you  not  to  heed  me,  I  am  beside 
myself.  Forget  such  words  as  these.  But  the 
mystery  is  so  baffling." 

"  I  can  only  reply  that  my  pain  awakened  my 
resistance  to  hindrances,  and  the  experiences  of 
the  hardships  of  the  day  drew  me  closer  to  my 
friends  and  the  All-Soul.  I  remember  it  now, 
though  I  had  half  forgotten  then,  that  in  the  days 
that  are  now  like  a  dream,  the  days  of  my  boy- 
hood, I  had  much  concern  for  the  life  of  Mary's 
Son.  My  mother  and  I  were  reading  together  the 
story  of  His  life.  We  had  read  as  far  as  the  gar- 
den-scene ;  the  Savior's  rising  up  and  bidding  the 
sleeping  disciples  follow  Him.  T  was  separated 
from  her  for  a  few  days,  I  do  not  remember  why, 


248  A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION. 

nor  does  it  matter  now.  I  did  not  dare  go  on  with 
the  reading  without  her.  I  went  about  the  house 
like  one  daft,  and  bereft  of  friends.  I  knew  some- 
thing of  the  incidents  of  the  crucifixion,  but  had 
never  read  them  in  their  historic  connection.  I 
was  wondering  what  He  would  do  next  after  the 
horrible  pain.  It  was  terrible  to  me  that  He 
should  have  been  alone  and  neglected  when  He 
was  craving  sympathy.  But  He  appeared  so 
strong  when  He  rose  up  that  I  adoringly  worshiped 
Him  in  my  boyish  admiration.  Then  I  tried  to 
imagine  what  He  would  do  next ;  and  all  I  could 
think  of  was  a  host  of  angels  besieging  Him  and 
begging  Him  to  return  with  the.m,  and  not-go  forth 
on  His  dark,  forsaken  way.  I  can  remember  it 
now,  the  look  of  astonishment  and  grief  that  came 
upon  His  face  as  He  turned  to  them,  His  hands 
hanging  down  by  His  side  motionless.  He  said 
not  a  word,  but  such  resolution  was  carved  on  His 
face  that  they  withdrew  at  once  ;  when  all  alone, 
leaving  the  disciples  to  follow  on  behind,  He  went 
out  into  the  heavy  darkness.  It  was  a  simple, 
childish  fancy,  but  I  learned  that  day  what  pain 
can  do,  and  how  it  makes  heroes.  I  was  feeling 
the  separation  from  my  mother  sharply  and  some- 
what rebelliously  ;  that  picture  ever-recurring  gave 
me  resolution.  I  turned  to  my  duties  at  once  ;  I 
never  forgot  it." 

"  Simple  and  childish,  you  say,  but  reverent  for 
a   child.     Ah,   from  the  currents   of  another  life 


A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION.  249 

have  you  received  such  a  faith,  such  a  hope,  than 
have  I  received  my  distrusts.  There  is  the  rub. 
Inheritance  and  environment,  who  can  resist  these! 
Rather  bid  the  straw  resist  the  torrent,  the  leaf 
rescue  itself  from  the  whirlpool.  Better  reprimand 
the  leafless  oak  for  its  rotten  heart,  than  one  of 
my  mold  and  shape  for  disbelief  and  distrust. 

"I  have  fought  in  this  very  room  with  the 
demons  that  curse  me.  These  windows  rattle  now 
with  my  shrieks,  and  the  trembling  of  mad  tramp- 
ing is  still  upon  the  floor.  This  has  been  my 
grave,  and  I  have  struggled  like  one  who  comes  to 
life  in  his  clay-weighted  coffin,  tearing  out  his 
snaky  hair,  and  cramping  his  joints  until  his 
bones  snap  like  reeds,  and  with  bursting  eyes 
struggles  to  be  free,  to  breathe  !  Here  I  slowly 
smothered,  and  felt  my  heart  stopping  ;  it  is  my 
birthright.  Explain  it  if  you  can." 

"  I  will  not  attempt  it,  my  dear  friend ;  my  heart 
goes  out  to  you  with  all  the  old-time  affection. 
You  were  ever  a  strange  boy  and  man.  But  do 
you  remember  the  hunchback  that  brought  our 
not  too  plentiful  linen  from  his  mother's  hut,  at 
the  close  of  her  ironing  day  ?  I  see  you  do.  He 
was  always  repulsive  to  you.  You  have  at  least 
heard  of  those  articles  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  on 
the  new  philosophy  of  faith  ;  they  are  the  talk  of 
the  thinking  world,  profound,  sweet-toned  and 
helpful.  I  know  them  to  be  the  work  of  our  own 
hunchback. 


250  A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTIOX. 

"  Pain  ?  What  can  be  more  crushing  than  the 
jeers  and  insults  of  the  men  you  meet,  while  you 
are  dying  already  with  the  consciousness  of  your 
shame  and  disgrace.  Add  to  these  the  whisky 
curse,  poverty,  lack  of  education  ;  and  in  spite  of 
them  all,  the  mind,  the  heart,  genius  victors ! 
There  you  read  my  answer  to  your  question,  and  I 
"beg  you  will  not  think  it  a  harsh  one." 

"  I  had  my  ideals,"  came  my  evasive  answer, 
"  beautiful,  inspiring.  I  was  always  a  lover  of  the 
beautiful,  and  fairly  revelled  in  the" philosophy  of 
nature's  life  and  destiny.  You  were  ever  the  bet- 
ter artist.  But  I  had  my  ambition  and  promises 
as  well.  "Why  should  I  be  cheated,  while  the 
hunchback,  without  a  hope,  without  an  ideal,  prob- 
ably, gained  the  full  prize.  I  tell  you  it  is  all  a 
damnable  lottery ;  it  is  fate.  Set  out  towards  what 
end  you  will,  it  is  written  in  your  very  blood,  upon 
your  brain  cells,  whether  or  not  you  will  ever 
reach  it." 

"  I  believe  your  mistake  lies  largely  in  the  false 
notion  of  the  beautiful  and  the  ideal.  As  we  look 
back  towards  the  throne  of  the  Caesars,  we  ex- 
claim, '  There  has  been  but  one  life  supremely 
beautiful.'  It  came  out  of  the  most  despised  com- 
munity, and  among  an  enslaved  people.  From  the 
lowliest  of  the  earth  its  outwardness,  from  the 
highest  divinity  its  flaming  inwardness.  Its 
beauty  lay  in  the  interfitting  of  these  two  parts, 
and  in  its  fitness  with  its  environment.  From  the 


A  SOUL'S  SESUBKECTIOX.  251 

summit  of  this  spiral  down  to  the  chemical  affinity 
of  atoms  is  the  range  of  the  ideal.  Nor  will  the 
quality  suffer  any  change  in  the  descent,  no  matter 
how  vast  a  gulf  divide  between  any  two  embodi- 
ments of  it.  The  answer  to  the  question,  Why  is 
the  Son  of  Mary  beautiful,  will  answer  the  same 
question  in  relation  to  the  law  of  gravity.  Har- 
mony with  its  real  environment,  and  the  fulfill- 
ment of  its  destiny  !  And  that  not  in  a  blind  or 
mechanical  sense,  but  in  a  manner  spontaneous, 
natural,  evolutionary.  This  makes  individuality 
the  secret  of  life  and  motion.  Every  atom  has  its 
unlikeness  to  all  others,  because  of  its  peculiar 
place  and  relation  to  other  atoms — a  peculiarity 
no  less  marked  by  the  Creator  than  that  which 
distinguishes  between  one  man.  and  another.  I 
am  not  sure  but  that  sustained  individuality  will 
be  the  eternal  existence  of  which  we  dream.  The 
ability  to  sustain  it  by  the  overpowering  life  of 
Deity,  happy  existence ;  the  thrust  upon  and  en- 
forced sustainment  by  sin,  unhappy  existence. 
The  one  will  be  perfect  beauty,  the  other  absolute 
ugliness  and  deformity. 

"  The  soul's  only  natural  environment  is  spiritual 
truth  ;  spiritual  presences  collated  about  a  central 
individual  and  spirit  force.  The  soul  that  by  sin 
shall  be  thrust  into  darkness,  impurity  and  disin- 
tegrating elements,  is  out  of  its  environment,  and 
therefore  unhappy. 

"Again,  it  is  the  destiny  of  the  soul  to  gain,- at 


2-32  A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION. 

first  gradually,  and  afterwards  absolutely,  superi- 
ority over  the  body.  This  it  does  slowly  under 
Christ  here,  and  completely  in  the  eternal  life,  at 
some  stage  of  that  life.  It  is  not  certain  that  the 
soul  does  not  so  adulterate  itself  with  the  physical 
habit  of  thought  and  love  of  this  earth-life,  to  the 
degree  that  at  its  very  best,  it  can  only  hope  for 
absolute  freedom  at  some  remote  period  of  the 
eternal  existence,  when  the  influence  of  the  un- 
tainted Spirit  over  all  shall  have  wrought  in  the 
soul  its  perfect  work. 

"  But  in  the  darkness  and  ruin  which  sin  brings 
upon  the  soul  after  death,  it  is  neither  in  its  nat- 
ural environment  nor  fulfilling  its  destiny ;  indeed 
the  very  opposite  is  true.  Hence,  there  must  be  an 
utter  lack  of  beauty!  This  is  the  definition  of 
beauty,  and  the  illustration  of  its  meaning.  But 
you  got  some  foolish  ideas  in  your  head — do  not 
think  me  unfriendly  in  this — which  made  you  think 
yourself  born  for  certain  high  ends  and  nothing 
less.  It  was  the  case  with  myself,  I  remember ; 
it  was  the  science  of  nature  to  which  I  proposed  to 
devote  my  life  ;  and  I  proposed  to  do  it  by  rapid 
intuitions,  half-revelations,  which  no  one  had  yet 
known.  You  see  how  all  this  has  changed.  I 
have  not  the  analytical  mind,  nor  the  classifying 
tendencies.  I  would  soon  have  grown  bitter  in  my 
disappointment  and  belabored  fate.  But  I  have 
been  taught  that  one's  work  is  that  which  he  can 
do.  Only  thus  have  I  been  able  to  set  in  motion  a 


A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION.  253 

small   wave   of  happiness   in    the   hearts    of  my 
friends." 

"  You  mean  to  say,  then,  that  I  have  missed  my 
calling? " 

"  The  most  of  the  people  we  meet  are  dissatisfied, 
having  had  high  ideals  which  were  never  realized. 
A  smaller  number,  but  larger  than  Matthew  Ar- 
nold's '  remnant,'  is  stayed  by  Christian  resigna- 
tion, until  they  do  not  allow  themselves  to  be  very 
much  surprised  by,  or  disappointed  over,  any  lot; 
while  a  very  small  number,  and  the  smaller  the 
better  for  us  all,  so  wedded  to  their  optimism,  will 
declare  everything  to  be  just  as  they  dreamed  it, 
even  after  they  have  looked  upon  the  reality.  Their 
punctured  bubbles  never  collapse,  their  saw-dust 
people  never  lose  their  graceful  roundness.  Hero 
worship  has  had  not  a  little  to  do  with  our  general 
estimates ;  we  grant  to  a  leader,  a  genius,  all  the 
virtues  our  imagination  can  conjure,  more  possi- 
bilities, in  fact,  than  he  himself  ever  dreamed  of; 
much  as  some  very  imaginative  people  read  into  a 
poem  a  hundred  things  of  which  the  poet  himself 
was  not  conscious.  It  is  very  natural  that  when 
our  worshiped  heroes  fail  of  the  standard  we  set 
up,  we  should  feel  it  keenly,  and  blame  them  for 
unsuspected  weakness.  Much  of  ancient  and 
modern  fiction  has  played  no  small  part  in  the  es- 
tablishment of  this  habit.  I  remember  you  as  a 
firm  believer  in  the  rornancist's  statement  of  life. 
Romance  has  its  place  in  the  domain  of  letters,  but 


254  A  SOUL'S  BESUERECTION. 

not  as  the  fashioner  of  our  daily  thoughts  and 
wishes.  Howells  may  not  be  far  wrong  when  he 
pronounces  Tolstoi,  the  prince  of  realists,  the  great- 
est novelist  of  all  ages.  I  recognize  the  necessity 
of  a  high  standard  of  hoping  and  living  ;  that  if  we 
were  not  capable  of  ideals,  we  would  be  with  the 
beasts  ;  that  ambition  is  the  fly-wheel  of  all  life's 
motion  and  achievement ;  that  hope  is  a  Divine 
gift  and  keeps  the  heart ;  that  to  the  child,  maturity 
of  thought  and  work  is  the  ultima  thule.  But  is  it 
necessary  that  we  set  before  us  an  unreasonable, 
unattainable  perfection  in  order  that  we  may  attain 
some  degree  of  perfection,  though  we  do  fall  short 
of  the  ideal?  Is  it  not  a  pernicious  habit  we  have 
fallen  into,  and  does  it  not  dwarf  our  lives  at  last  ? 
Is  it  necessary  that  the  love-blinded  swain  shall 
imagine  every  grace,  every  virtue,  belongs  to  his 
chosen,  before  he  will  run  the  risk  of  merging  their 
fortunes?  I  wonder  if  sordid,  money-loving,  mes- 
alliance-hsiting  society  has  not  unconsciously 
wrought  a  good  work  in  cultivating  the  habit  of 
walking  into  the  matrimonial  state  with  open  eyes, 
each  conscious  of  the  other's  defects  and  shortcom- 
ings. Not  to  attain  all  is  not  to  fail,  nor  does  it 
make  any  less  the  ideal  toward  which  we  strug- 
gled." 

"  Your  words  seem  wholesome,  but  under  them 
must  be  something  that  is  false  and  deceptive  ;  my 
own  life  marks  them  so." 

"  Say  rather,  that  you  have  made  your  life  what 


A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION.  255 

it  is,  by  resisting  both  nature  and  God.  She 
moulded  you  in  form  for  both  strength  and  honor  ; 
the  Infinite  stood  ready  to  fill  you  with  a  grace 
Divine.  But  as  a  flower,  had  it  will,  might  lay  its 
face  on  the  black  ground  and  turn  its  parched 
mouth  from  the  dew  and  rain,  so  did  you.  I  would 
God  I  might  lift  the  flower  back  to  the  sun  and 
showers." 

"Your  words  are  gracious,"  I  cried,  my  soul 
all  astir,  "  but  to  what  end  ?  It  is  like  my  old 
dreams  of  heaven,  to  have  you  here  by  my  side, 
for  it  has  been  lonelier  than  death.  No  children's 
tripping  feet  have  ever  crossed  this  bare  floor,  no 
cheery  voices  have  shaken  the  cobwebs  of  my 
shadowed  room,  or  of  my  deeper-shadowed  brain. 
No  friend  has  for  years  entered  into  sincere 
converse  with  me.  Many  have  frowned,  or  smiled, 
and  passing  the  day,  passed  by.  Not  one  has 
stopped  to  say,  '  Do  you  rest  ?  Are  you  lonely  ? 
May  I  come  in  ? ' 

"  None,  till  you  came,  have  dared  meet  my  doubt- 
ing, scorning  gaze.  Like  some  sweet  spirit  you 
have  knelt  at  my  ruined  altar,  and  with  your 
human  words  smitten  the  dead  rock  of  my  hopes, 
until  a  tiny  stream  begins  to  flow.  But,  no  ;  there 
is  no  hope.  It  is  as  though  one  blind  were  led  to 
the  sea,  and  another  should  say,  '  Look,  behold 
the  vast  deep,  blue  as  the  domed  sky  ;  its  waves 
are  coming  in  like  frothing  thoughts  in  a  mad 
chase.  Look,  do  you  not  see  its  sublime,  billowy 


256  A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION. 

self?'  And  then  the  sightless  sufferer  should 
say,  *  No,  no ;  I  only  hear  a  confusing  roar,  at  first 
holding  and  inspiring,  then  a  booming  and  swish- 
ing of  waters  at  my  feet  that  terrify  me.'  And 
then  like  myself  this  moment,  would  cry  out, 
'  Lead  me  away,  haste,  for  the  boom  of  the  sea  is 
mixing  with  the  sullen  roar  of  my  half-mad  brain. 
I  cannot  endure  it.'  No,  no,  my  friend,  it  is  be- 
yond hope.  The  blind  must  see.  Only  a  miracle 
can  do  that." 

"Just  a  word.  By  some  strange  freak  of  hu- 
man nature  we  rush  from  superstition  to  atheism, 
and  back  again  to  superstition.  You  think  naught 
but  a  miracle,  like  that  given  to  the  blind  man  of 
Judea,  will  recover  for  you  your  inner  sight.  You 
hang  wholly  on  God's  power  and  notion  to  give 
you  sight.  Call  back  your  reason  and  regard 
yourself. 

"  Who  came  to  this  lonely  spot  of  self-hate  and 
God-distrust  ? " 

"  I,  myself." 

"Who  loved  it  in  spite  of  its  pain  ?" 

((  J   55 

"  Who  now  talks  of  helpless  blindness,  conscious 
of  his  condition  ?  " 

..  J   55 

"  Who,  but  this  instant,  hopes  and  yearns  for 
the  old  life,  the  new  life  ?  " 
"  I,  myself." 
"  Then  thou  canst  arise,  and  find  Him  of  whom 


A  SOUL'S  RE SUEEEOTION.  257 

thou  knowest  much  in  spite  of  thy  gloom.  For- 
give me  if  I  have  been  over-earnest,  or  seemed  to 
urge  myself  upon  you.  But  I  felt,  and  do  feel, 
that  my  soul's  own  brother  cried  to  me  in  that 
pitiful  prayer,  and  that  I  must  help  or  die." 

"  Go  on,  go  on.  It  is  restful.  It  is  like  a  good 
dream  one  dreams,  and  wakes,  and  dreams  again. 
But  it  is  only  restful.  One  does  not  undo  the 
convolutions  of  his  brain-cells  in  an  hour.  The 
light  does  not  come  at  the  wish.  But  to  see  you, 
even  dimly,  in  the  shadows  that  have  fallen  around 
me,  is  a  significant  beginning.  If  ever  it  shall 
happen  that  I  may  lift  up  my  earth-bound  eyes,  it 
will  be  not  by  some  sudden  and  astonishing  revela- 
tion, or  inward  work  of  grace  or  ungrace.  It  will 
be  because  I  was  able  to  see  thee,  thyself.  I  mean, 
to  hear  the  tones  of  thy  voice,  feel  thy  presence, 
then  afterwards  to  know  one  of  the  simplest  truths 
perhaps,  and  then  another,  until  at  last  I  can  take 
truth  for  truth's  sake,  and  not  thine  and  love's 
sake.  At  last  it  may  happen,  if  I  might  hope  for 
it,  that  I  may  discern  another  form,  its  outline 
against  the  eastern  window — the  window  of  the 
dawning ;  a  form,  upon  which  the  sunlight  may  af 
last  pour,  revealing  Him  of  whom  you  and  your 
dead  mother  dreamed.  What  if  I  should  close 
my  eyes  some  night  in  your  presence,  in  this  so 
long  demon-haunted  room,  and  when  I  should 
awaken  in  the  morning  light  I  should  behold  His  - 


258  A  SOUL'S  RESURRECTION. 

presence  in  your  stead,  would  there  be  any  miracle 
there  ?  I  think  not ;  a  natural  development,  not 
in  you,  but  in  me.  Ah,  what  fanciful  dreams  are 
these?  I  cannot  even  rise  from  my  chair  alone  ;  I 
am  broken,  shattered,  lost.  You  have  given  me  a 
glimpse  of  what  might  have  been,  but  not  now  ;  it 
is  too  late  !  " 

"  I  like  the  high  quality  of  your  despair,"  my 
friend  returned  in  his  musical  tones.  "  It  suits  the 
case  well ;  you  have  named  the  only  process  by 
which  you  may  recover  your  mental  health,  and  if 
that  be  recovered,  perchance  your  bodily  health. 
It  will  be  by  an  evolution  wrought  by  the  warmth 
and  moisture  of  your  friend's  love,  until  the  germ- 
ing is  over,  then  by  adjusting  yourself  to  your 
environment.  God  speaks  truth  by  men. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  say  two  words  to-night  before 
we  part.  Words  you  have  not  uttered  since  those 
early  days,  and  not  often  then.  Words  by  which 
Divinity  exists.  Words  which  make  men,  by  in- 
heritance, sons  of  the  Divine,  and  by  grace,  joint- 
heirs  with  the  older  Brother.  Words  by  which 
Jife  came,  but  they  are  not  in  all  life.  They  are 
not  in  all  highest  life,  for  the  spirits  of  the  Throne 
have  them  not.  They  are  the  sign  of  humanity, 
the  soul  of  Divinity.  They  marked  the  hunch- 
back from  the  most  beautifully  formed  and  grace- 
ful animal  that  ever  started  up  from  its  forest  con- 
cealment. They  can  remove  you  from  yourself, 
until  your  identity  is  wholly  changed.  They  are 


A  SOUL' S  RES URRE C TION.  259 

the  secret  of  immortality,  if  I  mistake  not.  They 
made  the  Man  of  Sorrows  change  his  blood-sweat 
agony  into  God-like  composure.  They  melt  sin. 
They  vanquish  it.  For  the  Great  One  does  ever 
work  in  them  when  they  are  the  echo  of  his  own. 
He  has  uttered  them  ever  since  time  first  began,  in 
every  revelation.  Men  have  no  higher  privilege 
than  to  echo  them — not  the  echo  of  a  hollow  sound, 
not  an  earth-born  cry,  nor  a  demoniac  shout — but 
an  echo  of  the  Divine.  You  know  them,  your  des- 
tiny depends  upon  them.  Will  you  say  them? 
Dare  you  be  silent  now  and  live?  Say  them,  my 
brother,  my  comrade  of  the  hills,  of  the  hopes  of 
youth  ;  by  the  love  I  bear  thee  still,  say  them!" 

"  I— I— I— WILL." 

"Amen ! " 


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